The Project 366 Things

Thing 252 Eyebrow Wax and Pluck

2011-04-13T15:26:00.000-07:00

Considering how ridiculously anal some people have been about Project Things, and considering this is the internet, where people love correcting other people, I'm kind of surprised that no one has noticed that Thing 252 was missing all the time. It was never posted. Initially I stalled on posting it because Hang Man had gone to Mexico, and he was the one who had taken the photos, on his phone, and I didn't feel like blogging without them. Then just decided to skip it, like a little experiment to see would anyone notice. Nope. Then I nearly forgot about it, till I got all sentimental the other day and started looking back. Good thing I caught it. I just know you'd have been up all night dying to hear about my eyebrow plucking experience. No? Didn't think so. Okay then. Moving on. Ya, I don't know if you've noticed this or not, I'm hoping not, but every so often I have a trace of a uni brow. This is a difficult admission for me, but since disclosure is important, and I think we've become friends now, there's a shade of a few hairs right smack in between my eye brows. I do not own the necessary grooming products to remove this (save for my razor and that's not a smart way forward now is it?), so I decided, inspired by a dear uni-browless friend (who definitely does not own his own eye-brow waxing gear. Wink wink, nudge nudge...) to head to an eye-brow bar and clean up my eyebrow shagginess. Yes, I did say eyebrow bar. These things exist, and several can be found in Limerick. The number of men who turn up there is small enough that the girls there could remember the guy's name (yep, there was only one other besides me). Oddly enough though, they know how to tackle a dude's eyebrows to make them look better. In my case they thinned them out, waxed the middle, plucked underneath and above. I didn't cry, and there's no evidence in existence which suggests that I did. My eyes didn't even water and no court anywhere could ever convict me of the same. Ahem. Or something to that effect. Apparently women get this done all the time. The lengths you ladies go to in order to loook good is frightening. I applaud your non stop determination to look well. I go days without shaving and you're all only lucky that I bother showering every day. I jest, but I really do tip the hat, men will never understand the lengths you go to. I'd a good laugh with the girls who did the waxing/plucking too. They even had what looked like a torturre rack of equiptment. It'd put the frightners on you... honestly. Anyway... that's Thing 252. It's now officially one minute past midnight, making this officially my birthday. Project ends today. Then party starts tonight. Old Quarter in O'Connell's. You're more than welcome. Last ever day of The Project...

Thing 365 Mime Artist

2011-04-13T12:01:00.000-07:00

Here's the reasons that this was a good Thing: It's visible, it's embarrassing, it's something you hear/see in pop culture but would never do, it gets me outside my comfort zone, and some of them told me that I'd never have the guts to do it.

Here's why it's not a good Thing: I have about five minutes worth of mime-artistry. Secondly, it's stupid. Thirdly, The Canuck hates it so much that it's unlikely that he'll speak to me for some time to come.

There's the invisible shrinking box thing, where you pretend to be trapped in an invisible box that gets smaller and smaller. There's the rope thing, where you pretend to tug on a rope that's not there, there's the ladder bit, where you pretend to climb a ladder, then there's the window/door thing, where you open and close a window or a door. Max seven minutes of usable material. After that it's just repeating the same crap over and over.

At a stretch I was there for twenty five minutes, after that, I was bored. If there was anyone taking any interest in that at all, I might have stayed longer, but instead I got a few smiles as people walked passed. Nothing more. Why? Because people hate mimes (unless they're REALLY good, which I'm not). The bit that I liked about the whole Thing was the ridiculous looking facepaint and the obligatory stripey black and white top. The down side to this was that I was in O'Connell's/Old Quarter having coffee when I decided to gear up, meaning that when I popped out of the bathroom all ready to go I looked like a more giant tool than when I was on the street.

If you're a street entertainer, then you've no business being dressed up in a pub or cafe. Mind you, I ought to be used to people looking at me funny. It's not the first time I've very publicly made a tool of myself. The weirdest bit is that I spent all day dreading this one. I don't know why. I wanted to do anything else except be a mime. I had to work up the courage for it. Which is weird, because it's not the worst thing I've done. Not by a long way. I stalled all day. Extra cup of coffee here, another cigarette. Just five more minutes.

By the time I got up to start the feckin thing, it was peanuts, and five minutes later I'd exhausted all my Mime Moves, and then I was bored. There's only so many times you can simulate climbing in and out of a window before you'll bore yourself to tears, much less the audience, if I had one, which I didn't.

So after that I just started walking about smoking an imaginary cigarette and miming to people passing by that I'd like an imaginary lighter. No one bit. I quit. Stupid miming. I liked the facepaint so much that I left it on for a little bit while I had a cup of coffee. Then I got some sense and went and cleaned myself up. Every so often I catch myself being a tool, the rest of the time I need you guys to remind me...

By the by, at the time of publishing it's sixty two minutes to birthday... Roll on party time!

Thing 364 The Hole in One

2011-04-12T14:35:00.001-07:00

They said it couldn't be done. If I was feeling vindictive enough I'd publish the full list of names of people who said I couldn't do it. But that would be unsporting, ungentlemanly and down right nasty, so instead I'm going to simply say: Na-na-na-na-nah na. What you can't see is that I'm currently blowing a raspberry at the laptop screen and with my thumbs in my ears I'm flapping my hands.

I look stupid, but I feel good.

I played my first game of pitch and putt in Parteen so long ago that I can't even remember what age I was, but I know that it was before I was a teenager. So we're talking at least fifteen years. Never once a hole-in-one. Thorny Wire has two already. He does have all the sporting genes though. The lad could shoot holes-in-one while he solos a football and spins rugby passes and throws darts. He's got himself some talent. To be fair to myself, I can type and watch Boardwalk Empire at the same time. Take that...
So Toe-Knee set up my trip to Parteen. He's a top bloke, and I know he was thrilled for me when I finally pulled it off, but I'm going to spend some serious time slagging him over the texts I got yesterday. "Bring a packed lunch, you're going to need it" was my favourite. I'll also slag him over the laughing and guffawing he did on my first twenty or so "practice shots".

That's what they were. I swear. The first twenty shots were complete disasters, now we're talking utter fails. I think I was closer to hitting the seventeenth green with a few then I was the first green, and let's just say they're not exactly side-by-side. Practice shots, all of them. I was getting into the swing of it you see... (pun intentional)

Practice makes something of you though. Toe Knee gave me a line to the green to aim at. The next twenty shots took the line, but fell about a foot either side of it. Getting better, but the heckling didn't help. There was more than a bit of it from behind me as the Green Keeper joined in with McK and Toe Knee's brother. To be fair, it was pretty funny. They kept calling for Thorny Wire to get up and give me a lesson.

We collected the twenty I'd just teed off, with Toe Knee preparing for a long day ahead. We bounced a few balls by the green to test the reaction and the roll of the green. Toe Knee found the spot. I went back up to the tee. The lads were sitting down to relax and brace themselves for a long day. The next sixteen were within a foot of the bounce spot. The seventeenth though...

It hit its mark, popped up over the lip, rolled on to the green and trickled... so slowly... down the hill... toward the hole... and slipped into the hole. It was so slow that Toe Knee had time to run on to the green, lift out the pin and he still had to wait. The noise it made when it dropped in to the hole was one of the most satisfying I ever heard.

Cue celebrations. Not just me, the lads all jumped in too. It had been almost exactly half an hour. Not all day. Not till seven in the evening. Not even past midday. Hooray! Get in there.

Ten minutes later the excitement had worn off. Project Thing done by twenty to eleven in the morning, now what the hell do I do? I spent the day sitting on the ass. It was nice... a taste of days to come after Thursday I think.

Thing 363 Soup Run

2011-04-11T19:46:00.001-07:00

Alright, let's not get all wrapped up in serious here, and I'm not about to start making sweeping dramatic statements and indulging in stupidity (that is to say any worse stupidity than that which you're normally used to), but things have changed since I spent a night sleeping rough. It was only one night, but like I said before, it upset me, and like Red out of Shawshank Redemption said: "You get busy living or you get busy dying". Dammit - is there nothing Morgan Freeman can't teach us?

So I decided to get busy. McGarry House, and it's sister house the Brother Russell House are shelters for the homeless run by an organistation called Novas. They're what's commonly known as "low-threshold" hostels, which means that they tend to take in a large number of residents that other hostels won't take. They also have no closing time, no curfew and they never expel anyone permanently. They don't believe in that last one, because they always believe that people are worth another chance.

I think they might actually be living saints. Considering my appalling excess, and the general assholery of me and assorted companions (I'm not going to name names, you know who you are... Pony Boy...). These people would just put us to shame, and then be really nice about it.

Another part of what what they do is the Soup Run. You can see them, three days a week outside what used to be Ferguson's Chemist on O'Connell Street in Limerick with plastic bins full of sandwiches, taytos, cup-a-soups, chocolate bars, tea and coffee. They just stand there and wait for anyone who needs a meal. They tried walking around to find homeless people but it wasn't working out, so they just put the word out and asked others to come to them. They'll stroll a couple of blocks here and there to spots that they know some people are sleeping or hanging out and they'll bring what they can carry.

I went on the soup run yesterday, got a look inside the two houses as well. This Thing is a kind of a two-sided coin. On the one hand, the awful poverty and desperate conditions that some people are reduced to living in is frightening. The indignity they suffer, and the desperation, sometimes loud, but mostly all to quiet is heartbreaking to see. On the other hand, the care, compassion and dedication of the workers and volunteers in the homes, and the affection with which they're held by their clients would melt your heart.

I had a theory a few weeks ago, that the hunger and the coldness on the streets was matched at least by the indignity of being ignored. That as much as food and cigarettes were wanted, and needed, acknowledgement and a kind word would go just as far in the eyes of the people who have to live this kind of life. I think I was right.

One of the clients came to us last night crying, he'd had enough. He didn't want to live on the street anymore. He wanted another chance. Annette and Sinead calmed him down, got him a hot cup of soup, and Sinead went about making calls to see could she find him a place for the night (both houses were full). He didn't know me, had never met me before, so he asked, awkwardly if I minded him staying with me for a chat. Of course I told him. He was delighted. So we chatted. Every so often he'd cry quietly, but mostly, we chatted in a nice way.

Others started turning up, shaking hands when they'd stroll over. Hot sausages wrapped in tinfoil would be stowed in pockets for later. Sandwiches eaten with a cup of tea and a chat. All the time as grateful for the company as the food and something hot to drink. After a little while my first new friend had relaxed enough and a few of us were talking about music... a sing song broke out. Trust me to find a sing song on the street.

For about and hour and a half we waited there. Some came, took the food and left, but not many, in fact, I think there was only one who did that. The rest came for something to eat and stayed to talk. They talked a little about how life is tough, but mostly about everything else from music to books, to food and everything in between. Like I say, a double sided coin - I couldn't decide if I wanted to be heart warmed or heart broken.

So that's the start of my career as a volunteer. Long may it last.

P.S. On a much lighter note, an infinitely lighter note, I'm gonna lash out a few buckets to collect for McGarry House on Thursday night. It's my party (and I'll cry if I want to) at O'Connell's at The Old Quarter on Ellen Street in Limerick from seven. Consider yourself invited.

Thing 362 Make A Tyre Swing

2011-04-11T17:33:00.000-07:00

Yep, there's nothing quite like making your niece and nephew grin like that. Well, very little, the feeling of swinging on a swing is also pretty cool. I'll tell you what's not cool: falling out of trees and dislocated thumbs. While none of the former happened, there was a distinct threat of the same. The latter on the other half is currently the case. The Canuck has to wear a weird modern day splint looking thing since he dislocated his thumb. He's the only person that I know who can dislocate almost every part of himself. Man is like a transformer or a Power Ranger Zoid thing. Wow, now there's a blast from the past. How did that pop into my head?

Sunday was supposed to be "Jump Out Of A Moving Car Thing". Sadly, there was a Pony Boy family reunion and it went all the way back to The Sluggery and rocked on till six in the morning, so that ruled out my driver for the next day. Mind you, I slept like a baby all the way through, I was beat up after the banter with the guns and the rugby. So this left me short of options. Back to the Leather Book. It has almost every idea I've ever had, or been given for a Project Thing. On page two... Make a Tyre Swing. Beano.

And it's so easy right? C'mon people, it's me we're talking about here, of course I made a complete hash of it... It wasn't easy at all.
First off, I though the bit of rope I'd bought for a previous Thing would do just fine, and the spare-spare tyre would do too. So I'd everything I needed except a tree. Wrong. The rope was crappy and unwound easily. The Canuck pointed out that this is fine for me and him, since we're bored of broken bones (him WAY more than me), but for the kids, a more safety appropriate rope would be required. Secondly, how the funk do you get the tyre off the wheel well? We tried everything, and by everything I of course mean: A screwdriver, a spade, a pair of clippers, a knife, part of an old shelf and the metal part of The Canuck's splint. We're like MacGyver except stupid, and one of us is Canadian.

So off to B&Q to get some rope. Which we couldn't find, and then of course, being us, we got bored and decided to have some fun. I asked the shop assistant with the straightest face I could pull, where was the rope, the shovels and the bags of lime... The Canuck shusshhed me very obviously. Then we both fake smiled. The dude looked nervous.

At Ci-Ci-Doo and Puc It Out's house, we picked the second least dangerous tree. Quickly realised that we couldn't climb it (Dad wouldn't let The Canuck, man that was hilarious). So we had to try something else. Here's what we came up with...
Yeah. That's a can of beans with our rope tied around it. MacGyver never used a tin of beans to make his contraptions did he? No. Us:1 MacGyver:0. We're winning. Or at least we would be if it had worked. It did not. So we moved on to the third least dangerous tree. I was nominated to climb on the grounds that we didn't want Dad to come out and ground The Canuck for two weeks without pocket money. I'm still laughing at that. I don't know why. If he told me not to I wouldn't either. So I shimmied my fat ass up the tree to the best of my ability, pulling large chunks down on top of me as I went. Got the rope into the tree climbed down... choked for a while and then sent The Canuck up to do it right...

The man is part monkey, even with a dislocated thumb. I coordinated, which is a fancy way of saying I didn't do much, but told others how it should be done. My only contribution was to think of ways of levering up the rope when it fell. I put all those honours in the leaving cert, four years of college and eighteen months of training for my current job to work and came up with this:

Tie the rope to a stick. Throw the stick.

Genius. After much labouring and messing, we finally had it. A rope swing. Too low for me or The Canuck to make use of it - after all the eldest of my sister and brother-in-law's kids is only seven (almost). But it hung, and we got the thumbs up from Spike and Looper up there in the top photo.
Job well done. Except for that photo. That's just embarrassing.

Out Nana's back garden there was a swing which was built buy one of her brothers for my Da and his sisters. All of us grandkids got the use out of it, in fact, we regularly fought over it, and we were reminded that it was built by hand.

I hope mine lasts. There's not a lot of Things that are going to stand the test of time, and I'd like to be able to call over to the gaff in seven years time when Grace is the same age as Ellen is now and say; yep, that was me. I did it. I hung that tyre swing.

God knows the "baking skills" I picked up during The Project aren't going to be the stuff of legend...

Thing 361 Shooting

2011-04-11T16:21:00.000-07:00

Do not adjust your monitor. That picture is sideways. You're okay. I promise. I just though it looked all arty and shit. I've already covered this bit, but for the sake of reiteration, I love movies. I particularly love action movies. Sunday is a day for couch and action movies or old movies with more tea than is healthy. The Frenchman takes this to extremes, choosing only the worst of the worst in action movies. No plot, just explosions and guns. It's hilarious.

As a result of our combined fascinations, I've been exposed, like most of my generation to lots of shoot-em-up scenes. Guns shouldn't frighten me, or have any effect on me at this point, but they did. Not in a weird scary way, just that when your mate hands you a twelve guage shotgun and you feel the weight of it, and watch people duck out of your way when you swing around with it in your hand, well, you get a strange kind of feeling. This thing can kill people. It's only purpose is as a weapon. It's a tad unsettling.

Thankfully, we were only out to shoot clay discs, not anything alive, and though at the best of times I'm a clumsy moron, that strange feeling of knowing that this thing in your hand is a lethal killer, it makes you cautious, and considerate, and more than a little careful.
You wouldn't have guessed from the picture. Cameraman in the background is fishing for shotgun shells while Big Bar and Dr Frasier grin like idiots. I promise, we were being careful. Singer wasn't allowed to hold a shotgun. That would only lead to misery... I'm kidding, he's just as competent at not killing us as anyone else.

While the shooting was the main Thing for the day, it was all in all, quite the entertaining boys day out. Start off with some clay shooting by the lake in Kilaloe. Apparently, I'm not half bad at this, I hit a few of the targets. Big Bar frightened all and sundry by being shockingly accurate. Sure he looks like a tall smiley friendly giant, but don't piss him off if he's within arms reach of a gun.

We watched the Munster match (first time I've seen them playing in the Amlin Challenge Cup -so there's a Thing. Incidentally, Top Cat was at the game and it looked like awesome fun for the travelling faithful), then we popped down to Reddan's in Kilaloe and had a pint or two while we backed a gang of slow horses at the Grand National, then back to Kilaloe for the Leinster match. Top day.
This photo is included for effect only. It makes me look like a murderous hick. I can feel the Limerick jokes coming from all my Dublin mates. Go on then... get them over with...

As I said, I wasn't prepared for the feeling of holding a shotgun, I most certainly wasn't ready for the kick that comes with it. My shoulder is bruised and so's my arm. I'm not going to whinge about it or anything, but if you've never been shooting before then brace yourself for that. Recoil from a twelve guage is powerful and it hit the chubby flesh around my chubby shoulders fairly remorselessly.

The fun part was the success. You've to call "pull" (no dirty jokes perverts) and the shooter is released to throw the clay high into the air, it tends to curl, you've to swing that heavy gun around and shoot early. Because of the way shotguns work, the shell scatters, so the earlier you shoot, the better the chance of hitting the target.

Here are some not so instructional videos:

First there's me: Here and here.

Then there's Dr Frasier: He's here.

Can't leave out Bear: Here.

And of course, Big Bar... Here.

Granted, those videos do not make for riveting viewing, and we were better than they let on. Honest. We just weren't filming the bits where we were kicking ass. Wow, that sounds like a lie no matter which way you slice it. I promise we're better than they let on. Also, I wish we'd a video of Cameraman shooting, because honestly, that'll make your blood cold. Someone's getting an invite on to my Zombie Apocolypse Survival Team.
My success rate was pretty good, I hit a three of them anyway, which out of twenty five shots, seems like a meagre return, but it was my first time. So, you know. The point wasn't winning though (spoken like a true person who didn't win, I really don't like the term loser), it was to know what it's like to shoot a gun. It's strange. Not bad, or good, just unusual. There's a power to it which is tempered with trepidation that things could go wrong if you're not careful. Sort of like having control of the remote in your living room, except instead of picking bad TV and getting slagged or given out to, you might kill someone if you're not careful.

Interesting thing to be able to say that I've done. Also, got me some new recruits for when zombie apocalypse arrives. When that does happen, you might want to stick close to Bear, Cameraman and Big Bar...

Thing 360 Swim in the Shannon

2011-04-11T14:00:00.000-07:00

When I got back from my holiday in Australia, after twenty three hours or so of travelling, Blond Boss was all about the going home. I, on the other hand, had to get into town. I told everyone that it was because I was mad to see my mates that I hadn't seen in three weeks, but it was actually because I missed the River Shannon. How ultimate-sad-ass is that? I wanted to go have a look at the river. I told you that I love Limerick, I really wasn't kidding.

So, eh, after that highly embarrassing admission, it should be no surprise that I've always wanted to swim in the Shannon. Not just anywhere though, I didn't want to be diving into the river at Carrick on Shannon, or in Lough Derg, I wanted to go swimming in the city centre. Right in the bit of the Shannon that makes Limerick City look pretty.

The problem... floating menace...
Look at that face and tell me that you're not intimidated. I'm pretty sure he's planning to kill me.

It would be false to say that I've got a phobia of swans, I'm not that afraid of them, they just make me nervous. And when I see them gathering, in a little dangerous posse right at the edge of the steps where I'm trying to get into the water to swim, well, I start sweating a little.

When they refuse to leave that spot, and then start congregating in the new spot that I choose, I start considering swan-heavy conspiracy theories. How much do they know? How much do we really know about them? We know that they can brake peoples' arms, apparently. What else are they capable of?

Finally, they moved off, and having spent an age watching them, I considered chickening out. I didn't though. You can't walk across burning wood one day and then freak out about swans the next. Stupid swans.
The second thing that was concerning me was hepatitis. My Granda once spent six months in hospital after rat urine got into a small cut on his leg. Hepatitis can be a bitch. And while I think that the water is a little fast to be badly infested, well, cities are cities and rats are rats and the obvious is the obvious, so I was a little alarmed. That's only prudent really.

Here's what I hadn't considered, what with the swan-gang and the hepatitis on my mind, was that there's a nasty current running just out from the water's edge. You can swim relatively undisturbed for a bout ten feet, then it's all about the current, and it was dragging itself toward swans... fast.

You can see me looking nervous in this next photo... Holy crap. Those sinister looking swans are coming right at me.

So I had my swim, fulfilled a life long ambition, then got out to dry off only for Token Northy and Pony Boy to attempt to first de-towel me while I was in the nip, then try to drive off with the rest of my clothes. Gas men... and by gas men I mean gowl-bags.

Got to love the loyalty of The Frenchman. Stood his ground. He'd have helped me to walk home in the nip. Or at least lent me some pants.

Thing 359 Walk on Fire

2011-04-07T16:27:00.000-07:00

Ammmm.... yeah. I just walked on fire. Eight hundred degrees hot burning wood embers. That photo behind there is a little dramatic, it wasn't burning like that when I walked across it. It was more like the third photo down. Go on, take a minute to scroll down and have a look see. I'll wait.

Still eight hundred degrees though. I went to the place knowing that I wanted to do it. You don't turn up at a fire-walk specifically not intending to walk. But I was waiting for the gimmick. The fake part that means that you're not really walking on fire. I was sure that bit was coming. It didn't. I was actually going to have to walk on fire. Actual fire.

Now if this was going to be the case, then some serious encouragement was needed. Duly provided by Brian Moore from Peak Potential. This guy is a motivational speaker. By the time we got around to walking on fire, we weren't nervous, hell, we were rearing to go and frankly, I think we scared ourselves a little with the intensity. More on that later.
The Barista took that photo after I'd gotten to the other side. It was awesome. He was actually the one who put me up to this. Into Arabica for a cup of coffee, sponsorship card for Special Olympics Ireland thrown into my hand, and an order to take part in the firewalk. The Barista is also the guy who using his neck, bent an 8mm diametre, six foot steel bar. With my help. I also used my neck to bend the steel bar.

I'm not kidding here guys. The whole point of the motivational speech was mind over matter. I'm entirely skeptical about these things so I tested the bar, it wasn't a fake, and it wasn't rigged, and I didn't use anything other than my neck to bend it. It was freaky. They'd psyched us up to the last. Positive thinking. It was a little freaky like I said. I got talked up to the point that I actually wanted to bend a steel bar with my neck. I wanted to put an 8mm bar into my throat and bend it without any help.
So after the talks, and the psyches up, and the positive thinking, and the encouragement, we walked out to that fourteen feet of burning hot coal embers, and if you'd tried to stop me I'd have pushed you out of the way. It was weird how intense we all were. There were eighty of us, ranging in all ages from about twenty to mid sixties.

I walked up to that burning pit, and when I was asked if I was ready I think I nearly shouted at the dude asking me. I walked, not too quickly, at a steady pace across the burning wood, looking straight ahead. It was room temperature at most. Honestly. I didn't feel a thing.

I bent a steel rod with my neck, and walked across burning wood embers without pain and without fear. I should have been afraid. Check out the disclaimer down below. I've to sign that in order to take part. It basically reads: If you get hurt walking on FIRE, and many people do get hurt WALKING ON FIRE, then it's not our fault because you agreed to WALK ON FIRE.

Alright, admittedly this blog is a little all over the place, mostly because I'm still kind of on a high from the walk. Tomorrow walking on normal ground is going to be boring.

Thing 358 Ignite Talks

2011-04-07T14:59:00.000-07:00

Alright, I'll grant you that's a very grainy photo, but I don't think the ones that I took are any better, so Surfer Girl's come up with the goods, while Lou Lou has my camera. I'm a disorganised mess. Still, this is a cool event and it's a smashing idea. It's more of a Galway idea than a Limerick one, as in, it's the kind of thing you'd expect to find in Galway, but it was a sensation for Limerick. It's called Ignite Night.

Last night there were nine speakers. Each had a topic close to their heart. They each get five minutes to talk about their given topic while twenty different slides, each changing after fifteen seconds, play behind them. There's no longer than five minutes per speaker, so you can't possibly get bored, and every fifteen seconds you've a new photo/slide to look at.

If you're not getting the gist of what I'm saying, or couldn't be arsed exercising your imagination, then here's a little link that'll help. It's Ignite Night in Seattle, and a funny man is talking about how science is ruining his childhood... CLICKETY CLICK.

It's an amazing idea though, for a few reasons. Firstly, it's not for profit. No one makes money, miLKlabs, the collaborative responsible for setting up the event spent some serious money on putting it on, only to make no money. So if there's no money to be made, why is it on? Literally just so people can share ideas. Nothing else. Well, not nothing else, you're there to have some fun too, but mainly the idea sharing. No cover charge, free in.

Secondly, there's no limit or constraints on what gets talked about. It could literally be anything. In my case it was public humiliation in The Project. The guy on before me talked about weather information processed correctly can be turned into music through computers and programming. The guy before that talked about the music recording computer program he wrote. Try following two technical genii with some nonsense about embarrassing yourself in public. It was embarrassing, ironically enough.

Thirdly, the people there are there for the same reason you are, which is that they're interested in sharing something for no reason other than they think you might get a laugh. What the hell is wrong with that? Plus, it's another one of those alternative to drink things that are really out there if that's your thing.

Now for all the crap and junk in the Project that I've done that's embarrassing, and I talked about that stuff at length, you'd think there'd be nothing left in me to shame. Sadly, this is not true. I was terrified of the thing. I was freaking out over it. Me? Having a problem talking for five minutes? Are you serious? I never shut up. This should have been a cake walk. Instead I was freaking out and my palms were sweaty.

I was pleased about how it went though. I didn't completely fail, and there was some fun had. I want another one. I want Ignite talks. And not just so I can run my mouth, ones that I can turn up to and just see other people talking. Anyone hear of any in their area. Let me know.

Thing 357 Gone Fishin'

2011-04-07T10:05:00.001-07:00

I badly wanted to hang a "Gone Fishin'" sign on the door of The Sluggery when I was leaving for this Thing. Except that's the dumbest idea in the entire world. That sign may as well say: "We're not home, rob us". Would it have been worth it just to hang that iconic sign? Probably not.

When I told Thorny Wire that fishing was my Thing for the day he asked me what kind of childhood I had. It was a strange question to come from my little brother. "The same childhood as you, oddball, and you didn't go fishing either...." Would have been a good point except that he's been fishing regularly since he was about nineteen.

It made me wonder how many other twenty somethings have never been fishing? I would have thought it's not that common a pastime that I should be mocked for never having done it, but then Dr Frasier put me to shame. I used to fish all the time he told me. With the greatest of respect to Dr Frasier, I really wasn't expecting that. He looks like the kind of guy who would have read every book on fishing ever, and be able to readily identify and tell you the history an genealogy of every fish you might come across, but I wasn't expecting that. It's funny how best friends can surprise you after years of hanging around.

He was as good as his word too. Or at least I think he was. Capable boat-rower, he also filled in the positions of Number One Officer, cabin boy, scullery maid and ship's doctor. Useful eh? I as the captain, obviously enough.

We went for a spot just outside Newmarket on Fergus, County Clare. It's called Rathlahine, and it's not hard to find from Limerick or Ennis. Thirty bucks a head gets you a boat for five hours, and you can rent lines if you need them. We only spent three hours out there. I assumed I'd be bored; you know, sitting around for three hours, nothing to do except cast and re cast for fish. It was a pretty fast three hours, and really relaxing.

I'm definitely getting old before my time. It was just so damn peaceful. Tranquil even. Wee just chilled out in our boat, waiting for fish to bite, shooting the breeze and not worrying. It was pretty cool. Think I'll do more of it. Except I'm expecting better results next time.

We caught, literally, nothing.

Not even an old tyre, boot or book of cliches. Nada. Which I think says a lot about our skills as fishermen. We were crap at it. Don't get me wrong, that didn't take from the event at all, but it would have been nice to have a fish or two to take home.

To add insult to injury, the pond itself was only restocked with fish a week before. I mean we literally had no excuse. Two oafs in a boat. We're not very outdoorsy, to be fair.
Next time I'm catching me something. Even if I've to use my hands to do it!!

Thing 356 Bell Ringing (Campanology)

2011-04-05T17:57:00.001-07:00

When I was small, Nana used to bring me and Thorny Wire down to Clancy's Strand by the river. Across the Shannon, St Mary's Cathedral, which was built in 1168 (I tend to love old stuff, historical stuff) used to ring out every day. It wasn't just gong-gong nonsense, it was proper bell ringing, in tune and in time. I'd actually forgotten about that sound until Monday night.

Campanology is the art of bell ringing. It's not just pulling on a rope, any idiot with a pair of hands and half a brain who started a stupid Project can do that. This is an art, and it has competitions, serious teams who practice every week, and it's one of the oldest forms of art in the world. Also, it's another thing that Limerick people apparently kick ass at doing. The St Mary's Cathedral Bell-Ringers just won the South Division competition like three days ago. They won the All-Ireland in 2008. The Redemptorists Bellringers are several times champions.

The lightest of the bells in St Mary's is six hundred weight. The top weight bell is just over a ton and a quarter. That photo down below is not sideways, it's a ton a quarter of bell, re cast in 1907 being swung from a rope down below. Check it... a ton and a quarter...
The way it works: Eight bells, the smallest is called the "treble", the heaviest is the "tenor". Teble's away first with all the others in order of weight following after. The leader then calls a change, inserting one of the later bells in before an earlier one. For example a call of six-two, would mean the number six ringer now changes his tempo and beat to fit in ahead of the number two ringer. After a while, another change is called. Hence the proper, in tune bell ringing that actually takes years of practice.

There's also a rhythm and this where yours truly falls down. Left hand to pull the rope, right hand to catch it, only on the upswing, and guide it down for the next pull. Or something to that effect. I think. Bless 'em, the Ringers in St Mary's were determined that I get it right. So they kept me going back up for practice over and over in between their ringing.

They have a set of practice bells. They're not in the next picture, the next one is me covering my ears to protect me from the sound of the tenor bell in St Mary's, with us standing right next to it...
These are the practice bells. And these are some of the St Mary's campanologists...
The sound of their ringing transported me back to being a child with Nana and Thorny Wire feeding the ducks and swans on the Shannon just by Curragower Falls. It's hard to explain. Things that I think are cool, are not really cool, most people think that they're daft and ridiculous, but I thought bell ringing was amazing. Not just the history of the church, or my own personal history, but the art and ease that these guys did a pretty complex job. The whole thing really.
Mind you, the narrow ass stairs was properly claustrophobic. Worth it for the view from the top. In Limerick and with nothing to do about the town; I highly recommend a visit to St Mary's Cathedral. It's cool. And by that I mean I think it's cool, and you may not.

Thing 355 Walk a Cat

2011-04-05T14:40:00.001-07:00

Don't be absurd Daniel. You don't take cats for walks. They're cats, which as everyone knows, are not the same as dogs. They're different things, and as such, come with different behaviours. For example: Dogs love people, while cats are conspiring to kill you when they're not just tolerating your existence. Dogs are loyal to a fault, while cats are still trying to figure out how to use a knife just so they can jam it in your back. It's these fundamental differences that mean that they shouldn't be expected to operate in the same way under specific circumstances, like putting a lead on them.

Alright, I'm aware of the above, but I have a fondness for the absurd, it's why I once wore braids in my hair... Yeah, I'll publicly admit to that now. I may as well, it's not like the lads don't tell that story all the time to embarrass me anyway. I like taking the normal things in life, and moving them about a bit and shaking them also in order to make something different, and to provoke a reaction. Like wearing odd shoes for a day, or wearing fake nails for a day, or dressing like a woman...

So when Keano suggested that I should get myself a "cat-lead" I said: "Don't be ridiculous Keano, that product doesn't exist". But when it turned out that it does exist, I said: "Cool, I'm in". Wow. They were oddly specific quotes weren't they?
So Cat Lady provided me with Fidel Catstro. Isn't she sweet? She doesn't like me very much, I think she suspected me from the word go, and was instantly suspicious of me. That or I didn't leave my prejudice about cats at the door and was looking for the knife. I tried to pet Fidel Catstro to put her at ease. Went down like a lead balloon.

Nothing for it but to jam a leash on the little thing, hope she doesn't scratch the face off me (or my ugly mug, I'm not bitter about that at all), and go for a walk.

Problem 1: Cat claws are excellent for sticking to carpets. They also make an atrocious noise when you try to remove said cat from the ground by leash alone.

Problem 2: When a cat doesn't want to walk, it drops to its haunches meaning that walking the cat actually becomes "dragging a cat".

Problem 3: When people see you dragging a cat they judge the shit out of you, and no arguments about trying to get the cat out into some fresh air, or an improvement of its exercise regime will cut any mustard.
Poor Fidel Catstro. We picked her up and carried her to the end of the block, tried to coax her without dragging her back, while trying to avoid hedges she could hide in and the eternal judgement of all who passed us by. Don't worry, before you go calling the ISPCA, we ended up spending most of twenty minutes not moving, just five minutes trying to drag her to her feet, and then she ended up dragging me all the way back to the house.

Cat can really move.

Cat Lady tells me that Fidel will not speak to her for a week. She thinks that's bad? I'm sleeping with one eye open and I've planned all my escape routes out of town... that cat is coming for me. I'm damn sure of it.

Never try to make a cat do what it doesn't want to, ultimately you'll fail, and you'll have earned eternal hatred...

Thing 354 Carrying the Flag

2011-04-04T16:29:00.001-07:00

Now, you see that? That's me on the pitch at Thomond Park. This is commonly referred to as "being a jammy git". It's what happens when nice people find your stupid blog to be mildly amusing and offer to help you out for funsies, and then through mates of theirs manage to get you the chance to walk on to Thomond Park just before the biggest game in Irish Provincial Rugby, in the most historically rich stadium in Europe, waving a giant Munster flag.

Thomond Park is well known for two things at match time: The awesome and incredible noise level as the fans get sucked into the game, and the equally deafening silence that comes with each kick. While on that note, a tip of the hat to the clown who gives Leinster fans a bad name with his "Sexton for Ireland" chant in the run up to O'Gara's kick. If you're reading this, I hope you tripped comically on a banana peel on your way out of the stadium.

There's no place to get a better idea of the noise level then right down on the pitch. The roar as the team came out gave me shivers. You think it's loud in your section of the stand? Trying be on the pitch, where an absolute tidal wave of screams batters you. It's no wonder so many professionals don't like playing against Munster here. That shit is intimidating.

It's part of the pre-match festivities. Members of the Munster's Supporters Club, and the Supporters Club Choir (who are class by the way) sing, beat drums and carry flags onto the pitch. I got to carry one of them there flags and was within whispering distance of the players. I didn't whisper though. That would have been weird.
That there is a nice picture of the legends that organised the whole Thing for me. Aren't they lovely? And die hard Munster fans. How could you not love them?

The Ozzie came with me, because I thought it would be nice for him to see a game of skill and aggression. He's used to watching Ozzie Rules Football, which is, let's be honest, a complete mystery to everyone, including the people who play it. I don't think he was prepared for the atmosphere. Standing in the old players' entrance just prior to taking the pitch. I wondered was this what it felt like for the pros? Then I remembered I was carrying a flag and at no time was I going to be asked to tackle Jamie Heaslip, and I came to my senses.

There was more than a touch of awe to the whole thing. Because, you know, I get all weepy over Munster. I wish that was a joke. I cried both times we won the Heineken Cup.

Then, of all the things to happen... me and the Ozzie got the television....
Twice...
What you're looking at in that photo is a post-manly-hug-smile. It's an awkward moment for all concerned, but I was too happy about winning to care.

It was hilarious. I think just about everyone I know who wasn't at the match texted to tell me that they saw my "ugly mug" on the telly. Seriously, I think like 90% of them used that exact phrase. "Ugly mug"!! Jerkbags, my mom says I'm handsome. So I got like thirty seconds of TV exposure, and I got to walk out the giant Munster flags before kick off. Awesome Thing.

Thing 353 Singles on Segways

2011-04-04T15:43:00.000-07:00

I signed up for this Thing when I wasn't single, that was easy. It's easy to turn up to a single's event when you're in a relationship, you can be smug. People in relationships are smug. It's what they do. Being single made this one slightly more daunting. Because now I can't be smug... It's a tough old world out there for singletons. And I really hate being deprived of the opportunity to be smug.

This was really two Things in one. First of all there was the Singles on Segways bit, and then there was the Mingle part. Both of which were in Galway, which as everyone in Ireland knows, is the country's most lovely city. It also has more tourists per capita then any other part of the world, with an estimated five tourists for every local (estimate made up entirely on the spot. Reference required). It also has the world's largest collection of stag and hen nights only being outshone by Templebar in Dublin.

So if you're in Galway and you fancy an interesting date, then I highly recommend Segway Adventures. Sure you're going to look a little silly in the helmet, but you get to ride around on a segway dammit. I want one. I want it so I can glide in and out of the living room and kitchen telling everyone what's what. I want to wear a suit on one and glide about telling people what to do. It's cool... Mind you, we did get heckled a little. Six people riding around Galway on their segways, feeling mildly self conscious about the high vis reflectors and the helmet which barely fits on my giant head.

Thankfully Dr Frasier and The Ozzie looked equally silly... this makes me feel better about myself.

The whole thing was organised by Another Friend.com. It's a dating website, and a friend making website, in case you didn't get that part from the title. I'm assuming you did, because you're not stupid. Internet dating just isn't as taboo as it once was. There's still a bit of a stigma there, but not like there was before. Mind you, for all of my lack of shame, the idea of driving around on Segways as a way to meet a lady... well... You get where I'm going.

I still think it would make an interesting date though. A little on the unusual side, but that's not something to be given out about. If you feel like a sneak peak at Another Friend, you can CLICK HERE.
One of the events and stuff that they do, as I very recently learned, is called a "Mingle". Basically, they invite members to a bar, all on a specific night to have some drinks and pick at some finger food. None of that awkward first date business, because everyone's in a large bunch. Mind you, I still found it a little strange. So I brought a gang. Little Sister, The Canuck, Dr Frasier, The Ozzie and The Singer all came with.

As events go, I'm sure the people at anotherfriend.com were psyched about it, it was a success, sadly, we didn't mingle. We ended up sitting on the outside of the group just shooting the breeze and talking nonsense to each other. It's actually one of our strongest suits. Utter nonsense talking is an art form amongst my mates.

So things learned from this Thing. Segways are awesome. Internet dating, while not for everyone, is certainly no bad way to meet someone, and Galway is an awesome spot for a night out...

Alright I already knew that last one.

Thing 352 Reality TV House

2011-04-03T14:38:00.001-07:00

That there is a screen-shot of our kitchen. It's one of the recordings made while we were streaming. Emsie made the suggestion that since I hate reality TV so much, I should rig up my own reality TV show here in The Sluggery. Genius. Invite the entire world to watch me scratching my junk on the couch while I watch old action movies. Who doesn't want to watch that eh?

So we set up three webcams; One in the living room to watch us while we recline. One in the kitchen to watch us making dinner. One on the kitchen window-sill to watch us smoking cigarettes on the deck. Big Brother eat your heart out. Now if only we had a Geordie to commentate on everything we were doing it would have been aces.

After the initial excitement of getting everything set up it got kind of boring pretty quick. Dr Frasier was watching from home. He got bored after fifteen minutes and started urging everyone to kiss each other to liven the whole thing up. Think he's got some voyeur issues.

We tried to liven up the every day tasks. Making lunch while on a unicycle was interesting. Token Northy's combination of unicycle and crutches made for fun viewing. Particularly when he fell. That's always comic gold. We tried wearing funny hats and wigs while we watched television, and I did a little shaking of my rump while I cooked. But it was all pretty lame. I mean, there's only so much you can do to spice up what are pretty ordinary tasks.

I felt we were getting a little boring. I turned on the ustream channel to see the number of viewers. At any one time there were about fifteen people viewing. Fifteen people watching me shake my ass while I made fajitas. It's not an especially fine ass, there's little in the way of excitement or eroticism to this. Big Red described it as the "worst porn ever". He's an absolute gent of a charmer. Smiley face.

We played pictionary and chilled out, while eighteen people watched us. It's a strange ass feeling knowing that people are watching you chill in your living room. We all pretended we weren't self conscious, but I totally was. Pony Boy left and headed for Little Flower's house. I know that he says it was because he wanted to, but I'm thinking it was to get out of the glare of public attention. He couldn't deal with the fame. Stardom is too much for some people.

Mates were texting me all day to tell me that they could see me and found it too voyeuristic to continue watching. Some people stayed tune though. So we had some wine and we cracked out the guitars and the harmonicas and started a jamming session. Hell, we even took requests from people, that's the kind of decent giving people we are.

Total Views of The Deck: 154

Total Views of The Living Room: 484

Total Views of The Kitchen: 314.

That's a lot of people watching nothing but us. Apparently reality TV is just that enthralling.

About the height of the excitement was spotted by Little Sister and I don't think a whole lot of other people. It was about half one in the morning. Lady Northy cracked out the Sing Star, she sang It's Raining Men with me, Token Northy and The Frenchman as back up dancers.

God I hope no one was recording that one... One thing is for sure, I definitely don't like reality TV any more now than I did before.

Thing 351 The Early House

2011-04-03T13:58:00.000-07:00

Firstly, to be clear, I've been in an early house before, this is not a new thing. It's kind of a Limerick tradition that after your debs, you head for the Horse and Hound for breakfast and a pint. The difference that makes this a Thing for The Project is that I've never gone into an early house for my first pint of the day. I've been up drinking all night (I've had an adventurous and slightly debauched youth) and gone to an early house, and I've had pints in the morning hours before, but not like this.

One of my pet hates about shift work is that I don't have a Friday night. For those working nine-to-five (and now you're singing Dolly Parton, I just know you are), there's Friday night to look forward to. When I lived in Dublin, Friday evenings in Harcourt Street's bars were just choc-a-bloc with suits as everyone started the weekend unwind. Pints after work. It's an institution. Friday night is where it's at these days.

Since my normal shift pattern ends on a night shift, and can end on any day of the week, my Friday night is usually on a weekday morning at about eight o'clock. It's not fair. I gripe, but no one listens. Ever since I started shift-working I've been promising myself a morning like this one. Breakfast in the Horse and Hound with a few pints. I'll have my Friday night while you're all having your Wednesday morning...

Hee Hee works with me and Token Northy, and he's game for a laugh, so I recruited him to help with the excess. That way I'm not walking into an early house at eight in the morning to drink on my own, which could probably be considered problematic. Thanks be to Hee Hee for covering me on this one.

We were in place in the bar for the eight o'clock news. Outside the door traffic was building up as people started their midweek commerce. Kids were on the way to school, street cleaners were busy making the city presentable and truck drivers were making their deliveries for the day's business. Inside, two clowns were sitting down to a massive feed and a nice creamy pint.

We shot the breeze and talked about this and that like anyone does on a Friday after work, but it just wasn't the same. In fact, it was a little weird and slightly unsettling. We weren't the only ones drinking, which I thought was odd. It's really not a time for it, and the day just keeps getting brighter. We moved on at about ten or half past to another early house not far away.

It was heaving. Wedged with people drinking and chatting. At half ten in the morning. It's just not something I'm used to seeing. One chap with a thick London accent kept insisting he was from Cork and began slagging and berating all the Limerick people. He was beyond drunk and the atmosphere was turning a little unpleasant. I was still trying to compute the amount of people who were drinking heavily by the time half past midday rolled around.

Hee Hee and I headed for Austin's. My favouritest of favourite pubs. At this point I was feeling massively self-conscious. We were passing people with kids, out for their lunch, we walked passed people running errands and taking a break from their working days, and at this point we'd been drinking for four and a half hours.

We had a few more, because, hey, we're out now, we may as well drive on. But it got more and more uncomfortable and less and less fun. The moral of the story? Drinking is only fun when everyone else is doing it. I can safely say I won't be doing that style of "Friday night" again in a hurry.

Thing 350 War Fleet Bid

2011-04-03T13:08:00.000-07:00

Observe, if you will, the HMS Ark Royal. It's an air craft carrier. Bet you've never tried to buy one of these bad boys? I put in a handsome bid of two hundred euro. Dr Frasier estimates that when it does get sold, it'll be for somewhere about the two-billion mark. Mine is a tad short of that, but I get the feeling they're going to be badly stuck for buyers, so I'm hoping they'll give my bid some serious consideration.

I didn't stop there though. What on earth is the point in having your own aircraft carrier if you can't put out a few destroyers to back up your flagship. So I bid fifty euro each on the HMS Exeter, the HMS Southampton and the HMS Nottingham. I'm going to have the best private fleet in the whole of Ireland.

You can definitely pick up chicks in an aircraft carrier...

Here's a funny story for you, and I can't for the life of me find a link to it, but it is a true story, I can 100% guarantee that (not a guarantee, terms and conditions apply, story probably true though, and if not, it should be). In the '90's the US was selling decommissioned military facilities, which included a nuclear bomb plant. A guy bought it. A week later the US Government realised their mistake. They'd accidentally made a guy into one of the world's nuclear superpowers.

Imagine the God-Complex that comes with that one. Hi, I'm Jim, and I'm a nuclear superpower. If your dog ever shits on my lawn again, there's going to be some serious repercussions... You definitely don't want to be the guy that cuts him off in traffic.

So here's hoping the British Government makes the same mistakes that the Yanks did way back when. Then I'll have a bigger fleet than the Irish Navy. At which point I'll make subjects of all of you, and turn The Sluggery into the capital of Ireland. Pony Boy can be the Minister for Fun.

I find it odd, and even a tiny bit alarming that this kind of firepower is so readily available on a public website. If you fancy buying yourself several destroyers and an air craft carrier, here's your chance...

Buy an air craft carrier here.

Buy three destroyers here.

So, loyal subjects to be, you better start currying for favour now, because not everyone is going to make the cut when I've got my own air craft carrier to kick all of your asses... Be afraid, be very afraid.

Thing 349 Wax Fireball

2011-03-31T20:13:00.001-07:00

Curse you interwebs, you're a constant disappointment to me and millions of others. I hate when the internet lets me down. Remember Thing 2? It was Coke and Mentos Thing. It was supposed to be an explosion of cola and minty goodness that would have had the local kids sticky and covered in the freshest cola they ever had the misfortune of having rain down on them. It was supposed to be monumental in its explosiveness.

It was not.

It was instead, a slightly mellow waterspout of brown something that barely reached higher than my knee. Why? Because the internets lied to me. It showed me YouTube videos of fountains of cola that hit at least ten feet in the air and refused to ever come down. Much the same with the coke and mentos, the Wax Fireball turned out to be a massive disappointment.

Look!! I even boiled wax over the stove. Here's how the recipe for mediocrity goes. Melt wax, put it over an open flame, let it ignite, add water. Hey presto; fireball. God knows where the science behind this is, but if candle wax hits a certain point of temperature, it ignites and then it's forced to burst into flames. Melted candlewax hates water, or so I'm told, so if you add that, you've got yourself a fireball of epic proportions.

Yeah right. More like a fireball of mediocre proportions.
That's not a photo of the fireball, thank god, it actually got past knee height, just about. I got this suggestion from Spoon, and I thought it was awesome. Last minute Project stuff. I thought it'd be cool and stuff and that it'd be worthy of making a Thing by virtue of how many of my eyelashes it would singe off me. Total: ZERO.

Once the water was poured in it flared up to thigh height and only served to make me and Token Northy feel slightly depressed. Next time I'm adding dynamite. That might rock it out a little...

Reality TV Project

2011-03-31T06:38:00.000-07:00

http://www.ustream.tv/channel/the-project-live

That's the link for the first of the live streaming of The Sluggery... sorry we're a tad late getting up and running. Blame The Canuck and Surfer Girl. Their fault. Hopefully we'll have another couple of channels up and running soon, so you can watch Token Northy cooking in the nip....

http://www.ustream.tv/channel/the-project-kitchen

Now the kitchen is on the internet, soon the deck and then... the bathroom... so we can catch Lady Northy sneaking herself some cakes.

http://www.ustream.tv/channel/the-project-deck

Here comes the deck... apparently...

Thing 348 Shooter's Sandwich

2011-03-28T12:37:00.000-07:00

Arguably the greatest sandwich ever made, the Shooter's Sandwich requires preparation, attention to detail and six hours of a wait before you can eat it. Minimum six hours. To be fair, any sandwich that takes six hours to make better be god damn worth the wait. I don't like waiting six minutes for a sandwich, much less six hours. I mean, in fairness, isn't half the fun of a sandwich that it takes so little time to prepare? Great food, takes only minutes to get ready, and you're in taste heaven in no time. Seems like six hours defeats the purpose of a sandwich. You can make chilli in six hours for crying out loud...

This one was a suggestion from The Frenchman, who discovered the Shooter's Sandwich on one of them fancy pants websites he visits, but since there was no way he was spending time making a six hour sandwich, it falls on his gullible and pliable housemate to lead the way. Suggest it as a Project Thing, that way I do all the work, and he gets sandwichy goodness. Sly boots...

In fact, that's a pretty good way to get me to do lots of stuff. Hey, I need you to collect my laundry, you've never done that before, make it a Project Thing... I'm feeling used and dirty, and not in the nice way. In the bad way.
If you're wondering what that photo is... it's an amp, and several weights on a copping board which is resting on a loaf of bread. That's the kind of sandwich we're talking about here, a sandwich that requires weights...

Here's the recipe:

Things You'll Need:

1: An unsliced crusty loaf of bread.

2: Two steaks, any cut that you prefer is fine but I opted for fillet, because I'm a fancy bastard.

3: Shallots or spring onions.

4: Mushrooms

5: Worcester Sauce

6: These are optional, but I used them to good effect; Ballymaloe jalapeno relish, mustard, salt and pepper (the condiments, not the mid-nineties rap duo).

Prep:

1: Slice the top off your crusty loaf and scoop out all the bread inside leaving yourself with just a hollow loaf.

2: Fry up the mushrooms and spring onions/shallots. I went with spring onions, you can have shallots if you want, I object to their name for one reason or another. It just doesn't sit well with me. When they've reduced in size, season with salt, pepper, Worcester Sauce and if you're feeling adventurous, some brandy. Just a splash. You're not trying to get smashed here... When you're happy with the consistency, leave these to one side, the mushrooms should have absorbed all the flavour of your seasonings.

3: Fry up your steaks from the same pan. Flavour should stay with the pan. Cook to your preference, but most recipes I've seen recommend the pink side of medium. I'm inclined to agree.

4: Take the steaks straight from the pan, piping hot and dripping, and fold one into your hollow loaf. Now spoon in your mushroom and onion mixture. Add the second steak on top of this. spread some of the mustard on the steak.

5: Spread some jalapeno relish on the underside of the top of the loaf that you sliced earlier. Be generous with it, that stuff is delicious. Now put the lid back on and wrap the lot in greaseproof paper.

6: Wrap again in foil and place a chopping board on top of the loaf. Begin adding weights to the board, slowly. Keep adding weights every so often. Leave the whole lot for a minimum of six hours, or overnight.

The whole thing should compress down into one tightly compact steak sandwich of unbelievable awesomeness. It's actually worth the wait. Slice it into rectangles and share with your friends. Or don't. Tease them with it if you'd prefer.

I still think a sandwich that takes six hours kind of defeats the purpose of a sandwich, but nonetheless it was delicious, and The Frenchman got himself a tasty midnight snack.

Thing 347 Bin Bath

2011-03-27T13:32:00.000-07:00

Here's some Things I wanted to do: Wash myself in fresh water, like a stream or a river. Climb out the upstairs window using a rope made from bedsheets. I do love the stupid ideas for Things that I get from the movies and television. There's a little part of me that blurs the lines between fiction and reality, and I consider it possible to tie my bedsheets to a radiator and climb down. Of course it was never going to work, I weigh twelve stone and the radiator is attached rather flimsily to the floor.

Try telling me that last night though. No way. Wouldn't hear of it. Pony Boy had to forbid me doing it. Since it's his birthday and he's the oldest, I deferred to him. The problem of course is that I was just after finishing a long day at work, and options were extremely limited in terms of Project Things. So what to do...

Well Pony Boy takes away and he gives back. The recycling bin out the back is full of water and since I'm never going to have the time to get the whole fresh water washing Thing, well this is the closest thing I'll get to it. A bath in a bin out the back at ten at night. If that doesn't wake you up for a night out...
What a photo, what a sexy beast I am. Well, the beast part is accurate, the sexy bit is up for debate. I'm in favour of the motion, women everywhere are opposed to it. The reason the bin was full, was that we were using it for power-hose water, it's not like it was rain water or anything. I went and fetched the shower gel, Pony Boy fetched the camera, chuckling to himself, Token Northy joined in the laughing, then Lady Northy walked into the kitchen, saw me out the back, naked from the waist up and thought I was out on the deck in the nip. The woman nearly screamed. Not the screaming-fan type scream, the I'm terrified type scream. So much for the sexy bit eh?

So the Thing itself is straight forward enough. Strip down to the boxers. Climb up on the bench, because I'm a midget, and jump in. Just jump on in to the freezing cold water with the temperature outside at a balmy two degrees. In order that I didn't just jump in and out, Pony Boy fired half the bottle of shower gel on me, so I had to wash it off. What a clown.

I hunkered down and got dirty, or in this case, hunkered down and got clean. It was not pleasant, but if I'm planning to swim the bay in Kilkee then this is the least of what I've to worry about.
And that photo... I don't know why I added that. They told me you could see the steam rising off me, but I don't see it. I just see a chubby guy grinning like an idiot. Enjoy.

Thing 346 Sports Mascot

2011-03-27T12:03:00.000-07:00

I promised you it wouldn't be serious, and I wasn't kidding. There's just no way on earth to inject some gravitas into the wearing of a giant lion suit. Underneath that suit, what looks feels like a fake pregnancy suit to add some bulk, as if I needed it eh? It's only chubbier I'm getting.

Limerick FC's mascot is Leo the Lion. Tragically, lions suffer from a serious lack of originality and tend to name most of their kids Leo. As a lion though, he's pretty awesome. If you're a regular attendant at Limerick soccer matches, as I used to be, you'll see him parading about the outside of the pitch lines, entertaining kids who aren't exactly impressed with the standard of football on display at Airtricity League Division One matches. Which, if we're being honest, isn't sky high.

To be fair, that's not why you go to see your team play. You go to cheer them on, to support the club, to hope and pray that your guys will hit the net often and you can go home with a big smile on your face. I know quite a few guys who used to go to matches purely so they could say they were there. "I stood for ninety minutes in the rain in Hogan Park watching Limerick FC... I'm a real football fan". No, you're not, you're a tool.
I'm off topic. Sorry. Back to Leo. As mascots go, this one is pretty awesome. The suit is cool, and the kids love him. Most of the adults do too, even if they're pretending that they don't. I don't think I was turned down for a single hug all night. Is there something sinister about a man in a giant lion suit walking around hugging people? If there is, I don't wanna know about it!

I got the gig because I asked the people in the know. The Footballer knows all the people involved at the club, and I know the footballer, so, you know. Put those together and voila! The thing was that I was only going to get to do one half, since there's a regular guy who always does it, but they were going to ask if he'd let me take one half, for fun.

He never showed up. Holy crap. This is my moment. My time to shine. Time to don the lion-head and mascot the crap out of this match... I'm really glad the club officials took the time to warn me to bring shorts and a t-shirt. I was going to do the whole gig in my clothes, and that would have been an unmitigated disaster. That suit is like fifty million degrees too hot to be wearing. You can put that thing on, stand completely still, and you're going to sweat.

Imagine what it was like putting it one, and running around like a jack-ass and doing face-plants onto the turf to amuse the children? It's no wonder I was about to pass out. Apparently wearing mascot outfits and running around in them is just another thing that fat people shouldn't do.
The kids were good fun though. They seemed to love my dive-roll. I'd mime like I was revving up a lawnmower, then I'd sprint for a few yards and dive into the air, doing a flip as I went. Nine out of ten times I'd land on my back, and the kids would roar their approval. And then because they're kids, they'd start shouting: "Do it again, do it again..." And I would. And then I'd die a little from exhaustion.

The only irksome bit was when the kids tried to steal the head off the suit. I tell you folks, kids these days have no respect for twenty somethings who wear giant lion outfits and make prats of themselves. Sign of the times...

Loved it overall. I'll look at Leo the Lion a different way from now on. And it's reignited my love for Limerick soccer... C'mon Limerick!!!

P.S. Sluggary TV is still going ahead this Thursday, thanks to an excellent suggestion on one of the blogs. Our house will be reality TV for a day. I promise you several hours of mind numbing boredom watching bunch of people not really doing anything.

P.P.S. The feedback for the Sleeping Rough Thing has been amazing. Thank you. At the end of Project Party in the O'Connell's at the Old Quarter on April 14th (public party, come on down if you're about) there'll be buckets out to collect some cash for Focus Ireland who work with the homeless. See if we can't raise some cash eh?

Thing 345 Attend AA Meeting

2011-03-25T19:04:00.000-07:00

Wow.... we're two for two in the serious blogs that aren't full of me making a tool of myself here, aren't we? This one being slightly less depressing than least night's outing. To be fair, there are few things I could have done, and will ever do that will affect me as much as last night did. I'm still having trouble shaking it. The opportunity knocked though, and I had to see what was there. An open AA Meeting. A chance to walk in and see how recovering alcoholics cope with their disease.

In this country, of all countries, alcoholism is rife. Like most Irish families, there's a bit of it in my family history. I'm fairly certain that most Europeans would likely think that anyone Irish is an alcoholic. We just do it differently here. There's a soccer match on? Pub it is. Rugby match? Pub. Election coverage? Pub. Wednesday night? Pub...

The funny thing is that there are plenty of alternatives to drinking, if you can be bothered looking for them. I hear people say all the time that there's nothing else to do around Ireland, but there absolutely is, it's just that we're kind of programmed to think "drink first, options later". We're a parody of ourselves sometimes. Begorrah.

If you'd asked me last week which of the Sleep Rough or AA Meeting Things was going to be more depressing, I'd have said AA Meeting, hands down. Oddly enough, there's very little that's depressing about it. It's incredibly positive in both content and in atmosphere. For a group of people suffering from an illness which destroys families and ruins lives, this was remarkably uplifting.

It would be worse than wrong for me to repeat the stories heard at the meeting, they're not my stories to tell, they're someone else's life, but the general idea is that speakers are selected to speak to the open meeting, tell a little about their life before AA, the damage done during drinking days, the incredible, heart-breaking lows, and the renewed hope that comes with deciding to stop drinking.

As someone who likes a few pints (sometimes more than a few) there was definitely a note of warning in there. It's hard to recognise, but it's there. No one is safe from alcohol. You can be the strongest willed in the world but if it catches you, there's little you can do prevent yourself sliding. The stories told were harrowing, and contained references to incidents when drink was taken that I know myself I've been guilty of, and in fact, there's a large section of my mates who'd have to admit similar behaviour. I'm not going into what those things are, but they don't exactly leave me covered in glory.

For all the harrowing nature of the stories, the tone of the people telling them wasn't self-pitying, it wasn't depressed or upset. It was matter of fact. This happened in my life, now it's done and I'm moving on. I wanted to stand up and applaud the courage it took to sit there and tell a room full of strangers about the lowest point of your life.

By the end of the meeting I wasn't walking out thinking "how awful", I was thinking "how amazing". I'm sure there are plenty of closed meetings which are difficult to take, I'm sure it's not all inspiring stuff, and there's no doubt that the cross being borne by recovering alcoholics is permanently heavy and rarely yielding, but at least there's hope. I've seen it.

Right... I promise not to be so serious tomorrow...

Thing 344 Sleep Rough

2011-03-25T15:45:00.000-07:00

There's nothing funny about this blog. Just warning you in advance. There are no cute jokes or self deprecating remarks. This was, and I think will almost certainly be, the worst Thing I've done since the start of The Project. It was disturbing, and honestly, a little bit upsetting.

I left The Sluggary at about half seven in the evening, the plan being that I could take only what handful of change I had in my pockets, a sleeping bag and a phone for emergencies, and I wasn't allowed back until ten the next morning. I dressed in some old dirty clothes for effect. I thought I was setting off on an interesting adventure, and I'd have loads of funny stories of drunk students and public disorder to tell about. Not quite.

I sat on Thomas Street for an hour, during which time three people that I know, and talk to regularly walked right by me. Within five feet of me, and didn't see me. They saw a homeless person, they looked away as they passed, they did not see me. After an hour and a half I got anxious to talk to someone, and there was a group of scumbags down the road watching me, so I moved on.

Stopped outside Arthur's Quay and sat on an electricity box. Had nowhere to go, so it seemed as good a place as any. A security guard came out. "Move on there buddy". But I'm not doing anything, I'm just sitting here... "I said move on, so get going..." Why? I'm just sitting here like... "I told you to move on, so fucking move on". I moved on. I was literally doing nothing but sitting there.

On the way back up the road another homeless guy intercepted me and told me there was drinking in the park, and I was welcome to join him and his mates. I was glad of someone to talk to, but too afraid to go. I went and bought some cider and sat with the unopened bottle on Catherine Street, just watching people go by. Another two people passed who I know well. Neither of them saw me.

In the next hour or so, five different homeless people stopped and shared a bench with me. I lied to them and told them that I wasn't from Limerick and had nowhere to go. We talked about this and that, and shot the breeze. One of them shared a couple of cans with me. I was so pleased to talk to someone that I didn't refuse the cans, and we sat there just chatting about how hard life is for twenty minutes or so.

At this point I started feeling like a fraud. I could go home any time I wanted. None of these people could. I stayed out anyway. Went for another walk. Thus far the highlight of my night was just having some company. A man walking by stopped me, gave me a cigarette and stuffed three euro into my hand. Told me he was sorry for my troubles. I tried to refuse the money, but he insisted. He was the first non-homeless person to speak to me, who wasn't telling me to leave the electricity box I was sitting on.

I settled back on Catherine Street and met Danny. He's homeless, and if I'm being honest, a bit frightening looking. His face is scarred, his teeth ruined, and he's got an intimidating manner. When he goes begging for cash, he gets right into people's personal space, and leans in to look them in the eye. People don't like it, and most people brushed him away and kept going. One charmer told Danny to go fuck himself, and then spat in my face as he went by.

By now the whole "adventure" thing was a memory. I was a little frightened, and the only people I wanted to talk to were homeless people. I had spit on my face. Danny told me he'd look after me, and show me the ropes. He brought me from place to place, showing me his favourite spots for begging. Promised to share everything we made fifty-fifty. The feeling of guilt at being a fraud was getting to me. As he walked, he kept an eye out on the ground for cigarette butts that weren't smoked all the way down. He collected them, and when he needed a smoke he'd take one out and light up.

Two more people helped out: One of them was a woman who, when asked, told us she'd no cigarettes. She stopped into a bar, bought some cigarettes, came back out and gave us one each. If I didn't think it would frighten her, I'd have hugged her. Just the gesture alone. The second one was a guy I actually know. He didn't recognise me, but I spotted him collecting from his mates outside the bar, and handing a lump of change to Danny as he left.

We walked to the river. Danny sprinted off as a Garda van drove passed where we were. This made me more nervous. We drank my cider, and Danny's cans and walked from place to place all night, him collecting money and cigarettes, me sitting on the ground. We were shouted at routinely by people.

Just after half three, I handed Danny the money I'd been given earlier, took my sleeping bag from its hiding place, went to the side of the Franciscan Church and curled up to sleep. I was freezing. Before I left Danny, who was now gone so aggressive that he shouted abuse at people who wouldn't give him money, he asked had I any smokes. I told him no. He dug into his pocket and took out his stash of unfinished cigarettes. He pushed them into my pocket and told me to sleep well.

It might be one of the nicest gestures I've ever received. I felt horrendously guilty.

At just after half six, a street cleaner woke me to get out of his way. I was half asleep and didn't know where I was for a minute or two. He scowled at me. I shuffled off. For a little while I wondered about, killing time until I could go home. At about eight I couldn't take it any more, and I walked back to The Sluggery.

I did not have an adventure. I felt like shit. I had a shower, and the guilt of knowing that I had a double bed and an en suite of my own, a deck down stairs and a fifty inch television, it made me feel like crying.

There's nothing romantic about being homeless. It's despair and isolation, no identity and abuse. I couldn't do it for one night, how do people live like this every day? People will tell me I'm too pampered, and they're right, I am. I've had it too soft for too long, but I don't think there's anyone with a roof over their head who could even try to understand. Myself included.

It's weird. I wish I'd never done it.

Told you it wasn't going to be funny.

Thing 343 On My Feet All Day

2011-03-24T19:22:00.000-07:00

Y'all know the expression (wait, did I say "y'all", feel free to punch me the next time you see me, I deserve it), on my feet all day? Yep, I literally stayed on my feet all day. Next time you hear someone say it I want you to question them rigorously, interrogate them to ascertain if they spent any part of that day sitting down. Fifteen minute coffee-break eh? No sitting then? Are you sure? What about your lunch? Any sitting? The car on the way home or the bus? Don't you stand here telling me that you spent all day on your feet when we both know it's a lie. I'm the only one who's ever done it properly. Ever.

I got out of the bed, made my way to the shower and that was it... I never once spent a minute off my feet. This involves, as previously mentioned, no car to drive. I walked to the bus stop with The Frenchman, got on the nearly empty bus and stood next to his seat. I started worrying that the bus driver would tell me to sit down, so I prepared a story about having hemorrhoids. Those are the lengths that I'd go to for a Project Thing. I'd tell a stranger that I have hemorrhoids.

Now I always seem to be trying out my Things in Arabica and The Old Quarter, so we decided to try something different - surprise, surprise, me doing something new, who'd have thunk it. Since the sun was still shining we went to The Locke. It's a smashing bar where people sit out by the Abbey River and enjoy a pint or two. I stood out by the river and enjoyed a pint or two. Swayed from side to side, shuffled my feet, did anything to avoid standing still. As long as I'm moving it's not bad. Standing still is the enemy.

Then it was back home to make the dinner. No problems there, I tend not to cook sitting down. It's never been a favourite of mine. Next up was where we hit the real problem... Tuesday night in Thorny Wire's Bar has become a bit of a fad with some local musicians. With work in the morning there were no pints for me to be having, so I wasn't staying long, but I wanted to pop in. No buses this late though. So God Boy drove us in, with me standing up, hunched over and buckled in on the back seat. My ass never touched the comfort of the chair which was now just inches away. Same thing all the way back.

Thorny Wire couldn't resist mocking. "Sit down here with me Danny..." Hilarious. Man's a comedian.

Got home and stood about watching Chuck. I'm something of a fan, but watching TV standing up with a cup of tea is not a good idea. If you're standing you always feel like you should be going somewhere. If you weren't planning on going somewhere then why not just sit down? It tricks the body and the mind. I kept feeling like I'd somewhere to go.

So that was that. My whole day was spent on my feet. From the moment I got up, till it was time for bed. Ankles didn't thank me for that yesterday morning I can assure you.

Thing 342 Buried Completely in Sand

2011-03-24T18:42:00.001-07:00

Let me begin by saying; You can leave your hat on... deh duh deh duh deh deh... Check out Dr Frasier in this sex shock topless photo. He's working that swimsuit. Secondly let me say; this was a really terrible idea. I suffer from claustrophobia. Exactly what did I think would be the result of burying myself in sand completely? It was always going to be a terrifying experience.

Since we're enjoying all the fine weather, and it's awesome and all that, myself and Lady Awesome Mermaid Elegance, Dr Frasier and Surfer Girl headed for the West of Clare. No specific destination in mind, but we ended up in Lehinch. It has this strange magnet which draws you in. I was all about the Kilkee, but apparently we don't live in an awesome dictatorship over which I rule supreme.

I broke my swimming duck for the year, which is kind of a shame since I do look forward to my Galway swim in June, but it had to be done, because I was completely covered in sand. There was sand in places I didn't know I had. There was sand in places I did know I had, but never ever wanted to get sand in.

Once again, it's only logical to assume that if you bury yourself in sand, you're going to be sandy afterwards. Where's my head at?
I felt bad for the guys, I basically turned them into workers on my behalf. We all spent some time digging a hole large enough for me to lie down in comfortably. Which actually turned out to be more work than previously thought. Much respect to the five year olds who dig holes this big on the beach every year. I salute your tiny working hands.

In order to aid breathing, I cut the end off a two-litre bottle, and stuck the top in my mouth so I could breathe properly. The lads waited till almost all of me was covered, then I popped the bottle in the mouth, squeezed my eyes shut and they shovelled sand all over me. The second my ears were covered, the panic set it. Sound getting drowned out, pitch black behind my tightly shut eyes, the noise of the others talking and laughing became muffled. I couldn't move my arms or legs in the densely packed sand.

All reason leaves, and quick. I know there's Dr Frasier standing near by, waiting to pull me out if something goes wrong, but there's not a lot of logic or rationality in a phobia. Which I guess is the kind of idea. I panicked, my stupid tongue caught the top of the bottle, briefly cutting off my air supply and I panicked like mad... burst the head up through the sand and spat the bottle out like a petulant child. Sometimes I'm an incredible wuss of a man...

Photos hadn't been taken. Crap. I had to put the head back down and get another shot. Curse my wussy countenance. Isn't this kind of the idea though? Challenge myself. Good god I can't wait till this Project is done...

P.S. Reality TV live from The Sluggary on March 31st. Links will be here.

P.P.S. Birthday/End of Project Party in O'Connell's at the Old Quarter in Limerick on April 14th. If I've forgotten to send you an invite, it's not because I don't love you, it's because I'm stupid. Pop on down.

Thing 341 Crossbar Challenge

2011-03-24T18:15:00.001-07:00

What did I tell you about good weather after Paddy's Day? Sometimes my face hurts from being right all the time. So on a day like this, even if I did have a night shift the night before, the only thing to do is get out and enjoy some sunshine. Lord knows that there's going to be enough rainy days over the next few months, you've got to take them when you get them. Like Cadbury's Cream Eggs...

Anyone else remember the shocking embarrassment of the first time I tried to kick a rugby penalty? No. Quick refresher: I talk so much gas about rugby, but I'm all talk, I wouldn't kick snow off a rope, I was dreadful. This time 'round I wasn't so bad. Competition gives me an edge and I badly wanted to see God Boy humiliated. To be honest, him being humiliated is a major motivation for most of my day.

God Boy's so competitive that when Top Cat suggested the Crossbar Challenge for the day's Thing, the first words out of his mouth were: "It's my dream to get that crossbar first time, and then spend the rest of my time laughing at your pudgy arse". What a charmer. And this is the guy I call one of my best friends.

Basic rules of the crossbar challenge: From the Twenty-Two metre mark, kick the ball onto the crossbar. It can be drop kicked, kicked out of hand, or place-kicked onto the bar. First one to hit it wins. Easy peasy, and a smashing Project Thing to do in the sunshine.

Also, you'll straight up never believe what happened next. Have a look:

JAMMY GIT. CLICK ME.

First time. The miserable clown. First time victory. I think I hate that man a little.

I had to include this photo... balls of rubber apparently.

I eventually hit the bar. Took me a little while, I'll have to admit it. There's no point in lying since God Boy would probably sue me for falsehoods. He's as bad at winning as he is at losing, the fat clown. Top Cat got it twice, but since he was filming for comeonmunster.ie and he was off screen for the first victory, he'd to do it all over again. Fair play to him too, he managed it. And it's not easy I swear.

The worst thing about the gombeen of a tool winning in the way he did was the manner of it. When me and Top Cat hit the bar it was out of the hand. For God Boy it was a drop at goal. He dropped a goal to hit the bar. I loathe him winning.

During the video you can clearly hear him saying "I f***ing told you..." What a gimp.

Oooops. As it turns out I'm just as bad at losing as he is.

P.S. Don't forget... Sluggary TV will be live right here on March 31st. Reality TV never looked so boring/disturbing at the same time. All the Sluggary Boys and Girl live on the interwebs. Also, in the spirit of reaching the end of this Project, there'll be a party. A very public one in O'Connell's Bar at the Old Quarter in Limerick on April 14th. If you feel like having a pint, just join us.

Thing 340 Drink from the Beer Tap

2011-03-23T11:23:00.001-07:00

Dear Sir/Madam,

Considering the outrageous fees which are charged by your school for annual membership, I'm appalled at the standard of the work done. Our son was enrolled at your institution for the purposes of learning what is now the almost lost art of gentlemanly conduct. This family prides itself on manners and courteousness as well as dignity and decorum, and your finishing school promised to deliver such an education. We feel this is sorely lacking in our eldest son, Daniel.

Enclosed are several photographs taken on his latest endeavour to "experience more" from his life. As you can see, the effect of your ministrations on his behalf are clearly not in evidence. Is this really the standard of behaviour expected from one of your students? As previously stated, the fees for your school are nothing short of astronomical and we expected a more lasting effect on our son.

Nowhere to be seen in these photos are the virtues and beliefs which are apparently installed in all of your students. You'll note also that his brother and an attractive member of the bar staff have apparently led him astray. Is this the level of sophistication to be expected from one of your graduates? What, precisely, can you tell me did we spend our money on? The man is drinking beer from a bar tap. Is this one of the classes given in your establishment?

We look forward to reading your reply regarding our wayward son.

Sincerely,

Dan's Ma and Da.

P.S. Thanks to a most excellent suggestion posted here not too long ago, we're going to be making a reality TV show our of our house. Sluggery TV will be streaming live here on the blog site on March 31st all day. Watch Token Northy walk around in his underwear. Watch Pony Boy taking a nap. Watch The Frenchman eating a baguette. Watch Lady Northy being classy. All here, all live, all day.

Thing 339 Bake A Tart

2011-03-23T10:35:00.000-07:00

In typical Sluggery fashion, that's me, rolling dough with an empty wine bottle. We're all as classy as each other in this place. Except Lady Northy who's way classier than us all, and Token Northy who's at the other end of the spectrum.

Now while this one is undoubtedly similar to "bake a cake" Thing, there are significant differences. They are as follows: My Mam and my Nana never baked cakes. They baked tarts. Also, since pie is another word for tart, I'm also baking a pie, and as we all know, pie is awesome.

Unlike the mediocrity that was the cake, I was pretty determined to get the tart right. My Nana and my Mam mastered the art of tart making. Mam still does them every so often, and you can smell them the second you pull up outside our house, tongue hits the ground, Wile E Coyote style and you've to drag it behind you all the way to the oven. Nana's not with us anymore, but oddly it's one of the strongest memories I have of her. That, and how she used to tell me that she'd "soften my cough" for me, or "give me what size boots fit me" when I misbehaved. She was class.

So it's in the family, on both sides. Surely there's a tart making gene right? What a gene to have.
If there's a mess making gene, well I definitely got that one. It's spectacular the amount of mess I can make. This was a basic apple (and strawberry, I got adventurous midway through, when I forgot that I'm Dan Mooney and not Jamie Oliver) tart. From the state of the kitchen/my clothes afterwards, you'd swear I was baking a wedding cake for fifty people. I'm pretty sure there was more recipe ingredients on me than there was in the apple tart itself.

Thanks be to Little Flower for the help by the by. While The Frenchman laughed (in that haughty French style) at my efforts to make dough, Little Flower just calmly assured me that I was doing fine, and didn't shriek at me when I was getting it wrong. Which I was doing for nearly all of the baking.... You know me.

Got it finished though; wonder of wonders.

Some notes on the baking. I'm something of a night owl. Unhappy with mornings, which I believe were invented only to prevent people's night times from running into their afternoons, I tend to stay up late, and I function better when the sun's gone down. This goes some way to explaining why I was shopping for ingredients at midnight, like some kind of nocturnal baking freak. I didn't start actually baking till one am...

Who bakes a tart at one in the morning? I do apparently. Also, given my tendency to take forever and a day to do anything, it wasn't till after three that I got the thing out of the oven. Still, it looks awesome right? And it tasted great too. Honestly. I'm totally chuffed with my own baking abilities, which I expected to tank, but surprisingly, were excellent. Very tasty pie. Could done with some sweetening, but altogether, a fine pie.

The the stupid Frenchman takes the leftovers and makes a "Apple Strawberry Crumble" which absolutely blows my tart away with its awesomeness. Sometimes I hate that guy...

Thing 338 Inside Outside

2011-03-22T16:13:00.000-07:00

Generally the weather in this country isn't great. I know, I didn't need to tell you. You've been rained on too. I spend days walking about town humming the lyrics of Travis songs. The Locke Bar in Limerick does a roaring trade on sunny days, which means that it sells drink maybe two weeks of the year. Smashing bar though.

I like to think that what whether we do get that's any way decent, well it starts on this day... St Patrick's Day. Yep. This was the Thing for the day. Not marching in a parade, not drinking a green pint, not dressing like a leprechaun and granting wishes. No sir/ma'am. Not for me. The reason being that I hate town on Paddy's Day. Hate it with a vengeance.

(Cue Old Person Rant)

It's too loud, too crowded, too faux Irish. There's too much vomit, too many scumbags and too many people drinking in front of their kids. Yes indeed, for many years now St Patrick's Day has been spent in the house, with some mates, drinking some cans and playing the guitars. It's just lovely. And usually, the weather is pretty awesome too. For some reason, Paddy's Day has always struck me as the start of summer.
So, in the spirit of doing something new for the day, without having to hit the town, we enjoyed ourselves some sunshine, from the comfort of our living room. Which we placed on the deck. Yep, there's nothing like sitting down on the couch on the deck on a sunny Saint Patrick's Day. Got Spoon, Dr Frasier and The Frenchman. Got guitars. Got some wine. That's plenty. Always room for more people, you know, banter-wise, but that number suits me down to the ground.

It's like the perfect combination of something old and something new. I never go to town, and this year was going to be no different, but I've never put my living room on the lawn before so I get the best of both worlds.

Initially we sat out in the sun, t-shirts and jeans, then it started getting a little chillier so we put on some jumpers. After a little while the cold kept on coming so we put on jackets. No one for going inside, we were all about the sitting in the freezing cold... I think it's an Irish thing. Hardy to a fault.
There's a limit though. After a certain point Baltic cold is just Baltic cold and when your wine is chilling itself just by sitting on your new outdoor coffee table, then it's probably time to go inside. Our regular living room seems so crappy by comparison.

I want to move onto the deck.

Thing 337 Stakeout

2011-03-22T14:25:00.001-07:00

That's where I used to live. Which in retrospect is a pretty crap place to have a stakeout. In my defence, there's a logic to this which is based around not wanting to be parked outside a stranger's house and be caught doing it. Top Cat suggested it as a Thing. We both love a good cop-movie, and "the stakeout" is regular feature of such fare. You know the drill. Cop pulls up outside house/business and watches for his badguy to make a move.

Example: Rosewood and Taggart waiting outside a hotel for Detective Axel Foley in Beverly Hills Cop.

First mistake I made was going on my own. Usually a stakeout is between two partners, and they have clever witty banter because one of them is tired and doesn't want to be there while the other is overly enthusiastic about sharing the workload. Sadly, the radio on my car is broken so I couldn't even pretend that there was witty banter to be had with the DJ.

Second mistake I made was smoking. Harry Callaghan in Sudden Impact, spotted a bad guy who was on a stakeout outside a bank. How did he do it? Well it's important to remember that he's Clint Eastwood for starters, but mostly it was the pile of cigarettes outside the drivers window. Clever clogs. I'd a similar pile mounting up as I sat outside Blond Boss's house for about forty minutes just watching the front door.

Third mistake, and this one is crucial, is that I was staking out a house I used to live in. Initially this doesn't seem so ridiculous. I don't want to look like a complete psycho, so if anyone asks I can always just hop out of the car, walk over and stroll in. No problems. I'll say I was on the phone or something. The stupidity becomes apparent when the neighbours that I used to live next to walk by the car, smile, wave and "hello Dan". So much for Guy Incognito.

Two bad things that happened: First of all, I parked in a designated spot, someone arrived back to take their spot, so I just pulled out, and drove off, thinking I'll drive back in a minute when they're gone. Arrived back to park up and they were still unloading their car. This makes me the guy who was parked doing nothing, left, returned two minutes later and sat there parked doing nothing. I'd have called the cops if I was them.

The other bad thing that happened was that nothing happened. Blond Boss didn't come out, I couldn't get a clear view of the living room and the estate was quiet enough. This means that for forty minutes I was just bored.

God I'd hate to be a cop in a movie... how boring would that be?

Thing 336 Oprah/Multiple Personalities

2011-03-22T13:37:00.001-07:00

This is one of the rare occassions where I'm not terrible fussed if you're judging me or not, but I did spend a full half a day watching daytime TV. It's not like I've never seen daytime TV before, I've seen loads of it, but I've never spent six hours watching it on the couch before. Also, I've never seen Oprah before. Sure I knew who she was, it's not like you can escape the woman anywhere on this planet, I'd just never taken the time to watch her show before - exception being the time I found a YouTube clip of Tom Cruise apparently losing his mind and jumping on here couch.

Like I say, I don't really mind if you're judging. When having a day of being sick/terribly sorry for yourself, inspiration and motivation are hard to come by. Thankfully these days are few and far between enough for me to never have subjected myself to this terrifying ordeal before. And let's not row about this - daytime TV is a truly frightening experience. At times it's a little intriguing, like the moments when you find yourself trying to decipher exactly what Daithí O' Sé is saying to Claire Byrne. Other times it's enlightening, like that moment when you realise that Claire Byrne is going through the same thing you're dealing with. You can almost see it in here eyes: "What the hell did he just say...?".

Other times it's outrageous, like the moments when you find that you're laughing along to Ellen. That's the moment when you enter your shame spiral and hate yourself a little...

So I watched Oprah. If I'm being honest with myself, I can actually see the appeal. She's a pretty cool woman for someone who could actually declare herself the Empress of Humanity. As a Thing though, I worried that it wasn't enough.

So I did what any right-minded person would do in my shoes... I hit the town running.

After the productive members of the household arrived home from work, I realised exactly what I'd achieved with my day so far. Nada. So, I decided I'd get out, stretch the legs and try on a few different identities.

I hope you've all seen "How I Met Your Mother"? I'm going to assume so. If not, take a quick break from reading, get downloading/buying a DVD and get on it. Finish reading this later.

The Barney character, played by Neil Patrick Harris, routinely lies on his never ending quest for more sex. He's a hilarious character, and I'm sure that there's no one reading this who's never told a little white lie on a night out before, but what I was going for was not small fibs. I wanted to see if I could convince people to believe the most outrageous lies in the world.

Straight face is something I can do. And do well. It should also be mentioned that I wasn't trying to get laid, I was just trying to see how far I could push the line. Turns out very far, or not far at all, with little way of distinguishing between the two.

I told lies to men, women and bouncers. I told them I was a footballer playing for Sunderland, at home because of a knee injury. I told them I was a British Airways pilot from Glasgow who had a stopover in Shannon. I told them I was an American researching the family tree of the billionaire that I worked for in the hope of finding an heir. Not one person called me a liar. Some of them asked me questions, but I think I fielded them pretty well, and actually managed to convince them that I was who I claimed to be.

Problems: Limerick is tiny, and I know lots of people. Also, since I didn't bother to remember the names I'd given to people, I wasn't sure if people were calling "me" or not. Then there was times when I'd bump into people I knew, and people "I'd" just met.

Then there was the aftermath. Outside the club, everyone was congregating (I do love the word congregating by the way) and it became a minefield. I just pretended I was on my phone till I'd navigated my way through.

Goes to show though, if you're going to lie, you better be good at it, because otherwise, you're going to get caught, or make a giant tool of yourself. Not that that's anything new to me eh?

Thing 335 Metropolis the Movie

2011-03-21T13:06:00.000-07:00

There are many people who will claim that watching a movie I've never seen before is a cop out. Several people have told me that The Project is easy, just fill up the days with unseen movies, and I've told them about their body parts where I'd like to shove that idea. This one though, this one is different. This one is Metropolis...

How many people do you know who get frighteningly excited at the prospect of watching a two and a half hour, black and white silent movie from 1927? Just me then? You'd be wrong if you thought that. This movie is not "a classic", Metropolis is "THE classic". It invented science fiction feature movies. Without this, there'd be no Fifth Element, no Blade Runner, no Matrix for crying out loud. And I wasn't just watching the movie, I was watching it on a cinema sized screen. I was also on my own, which I'll admit, made me look a little bit like a crazy person.

I stood outside the theatre in Mary I where the movie was being screened and asked everyone walking in if they were going to see the movie, with what must have looked like a kind of creepy smile. See no one else wanted to go, and I desperately wanted to talk to someone about it. This combination is what makes people think I'm not all there, in the head.

Two and a half hours (that's a rough estimation, it's much closer to two hours, twenty minutes, but I like rounding things up for dramatic effect) is a long time for a movie even today. In 1927, it was unthinkable, but the director, Fritz Lang knew what he wanted. Sadly, he didn't know what the critics at the time wanted, and his movie was slammed in the press. Which only goes to show you that movie critics are cynical know-it-alls who should be burned at the stake for witchcraft.

In the ensuing panic, which in 1927 must have involved monocles falling into champagne glasses and women fainting everywhere, the studio cut out twenty five minutes of the movie. That made the story-line senseless and stupid. Then when the most expensive movie of its time turned out to be a flop, they binned it. And the original twenty five minutes wasn't seen again until 2009.

Seriously. An archivist in 2009 found an uncut copy in Argentina. Isn't that amazing? No? Why aren't you people excited about this. It's basically the first ever science fiction movie, and for eighty odd years it was assumed lost.

Fine. I'll be excited about this all on my own then.

Basically it tells the story of a Utopian city called Metropolis, where the wealthy engineers and upper class live in the clouds, and the workers live underground. The son of the unofficial ruler of Metropolis sees a working class woman and falls instantly in love. Chaos ensues and life is turned on its head. It's a little sentimental, and the sci-fi part is basically secondary to the love story, but who's judging? Hell, if they can put a love story in Star Wars...

At times the movie is hilarious, without intending to be, but that's because silent movies needed to make up for the lack of dialogue with some serious over acting, and when that happens, most of the audience were pissing themselves. Except for one guy up the front who kept telling people to shush. No, it wasn't me. I love the movie and all that, but I couldn't help cracking up at the facial expressions of the guys who were supposed to be portraying lust. If that's what lust looks like on a man, then women must spend their lives in eternal fear of being eaten alive...

What I went to see was a very rare opportunity to watch the full version, on a theatre size screen. It was epic. Amazing. Oddly enough, it was also free. Maybe it's just for sci-fi nerds and movie buffs, but I seriously think everyone, if given the chance should go to see a piece of cinematic history that you just cannot buy on DVD.

Just me? Fine. I'm going home to watch Fifth Element and blog angrily...

Thing 334 Battered Chocolate

2011-03-20T16:42:00.001-07:00

According to the world's most hilarious comedian, Danny Bhoy (no that's not incorrect spelling, look him up on YouTube, he's thoroughly awesome), Scottish people have terrible diets. In fact, I think he used the term "worst diet in the world". One of the finest dishes that they've imagined ever, in fact one of the greatest ever imagined dishes in the history of dishes that people imagined anywhere since someone looked at a cow and thought "mmmm, tasty" is the battered Mars bar.

Wow. Long sentence. It's a serious bit of grub is the battered Mars bar. Chocolate covered in the same batter they use to make battered fish, and deep fried. Because apparently some stuff is simply too unhealthy on its own for someone not to f*** with it. You know, because heart attacks are no big deal eh?

So we decided we'd try some for ourselves. When you've had a bad day, and believe me, this was one of the worst I'd had in a long, long time, comfort food becomes important and your mates become important. So I rounded up the crew, and a pile of chocolate and we started making batter...

How disgusting does that look? Don't answer that. I know I'm a pig... Pony Boy also weighed in with an outrageous and dangerous decision: Battered Skittles. Because the chocolate idea was never going to be extreme enough.

Remember how crap we were at making eggnog that ended up being frighteningly good? This is pretty much the same effect. Take a house full of relatively competent cooks, add whiskey, "batter" which earns those inverted commas by virtue of the fact that we'd only a vague idea of what we were making, and stir.

It's a recipe for deliciousness, a dreadful mess, and a lot of laughs.
We made the "batter", we got our chocolate, and we destroyed the inside of our deep fat fryer. I thought Tiny Fairy was going to be sick, and little flower excused herself from the room. Meanwhile the two diabetics; Dr Frasier and Lady Northy started tucking in. Hilarious.

And the deep fried skittles were AMAZING. Here's to Pony Boy. I'd love to tell you the recipe, but since we didn't know what we were doing at the time, it's a little hard to recall how to implement it all over again. Pancake batter will do just fine, but try to thicken it up a little so that it sticks to the chocolate a little. Turn the heat down on the fryer just a little and go nuts.

Blame me when you have your sugar crash.

Thing 333 Bar-Boot Sale

2011-03-20T12:03:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure I even spelled that right. Barboot sale? Bar Boot sale? Bar-boot sale? Anyway, I think this is a genius idea, and I really mean that. It simply would never have happened in 2006. No way. Remember jumble sales from when you were in primary school? I think some people called them bring-and-buy sales, but it's the same thing. Stuff you no longer want, think someone else would like, and hope to make some cash on; you bring. Set up a stall. Price the items and sell them.

There are so many venues it's frightening, because there are so many empty retail units in every town in the country. You can rent them out for a day because people are so hard of cash. So you get a prime location, and a pretty fun atmosphere.

Think it'd have happened in 2006? No way. If you'd mentioned an adult jumble sale to any of us in 2005, we'd have shuddered, slapped you with a wad of rolled up fifty euro notes and then gone home to wash the smell of poor people off ourselves. Slight exaggeration, but we were pretty snobby back then. These days we're much more open.

By the way, how awesome is that picture up there? The Producer spinning some tunes on his decks for the shoppers. Class.
This is a Limerick City Centre bar boot sale. Right smack in the middle of town. It had some decks for music. Some guy who roasted his own coffee beans had a stall there, and he was pouring fresh coffee. Artists and photographers sold their own prints and stuff. There was a small platoon of women who'd brought their dresses and fancy clothes that they didn't want to wear anymore, and there were DVDs, records, even a Fender guitar. You name it, it was there.

It had a party atmosphere, and bless her cotton socks, but I think somehow it managed to hypnotize Lady Northy for a while. I think she likes shopping.... surprise surprise. I have to say I kind of loved it too. I don't regard shopping as a sport (sharp intake of breath as legions of women prepare to flay me where I stand), but shopping in a party is pretty cool.
It's also not a bad way of socialising. Does that seem strange to anyone else? It's just that it was so chilled, and the people were all happy to be saving money, and/or making money that there was good banter and plenty of general happiness. I'm fond of general happiness. It beats the crap out of general miserableness. I also like buying DVDs, so everyone's a winner right?

Look one up in a city near you!! Or just come to Limerick. Whatever.

Thing 332 Magic Card Trick

2011-03-20T05:27:00.000-07:00

Magicians are cool. You already knew this, I'm not providing you with new information. Usually, the first contact with magicians is through the classic art of the magic card-trick. Through sleight of hand, and well mastered deception, a good magician will make you make that "oooooooh" noise when he/she shows you the card you thought you'd picked randomly. I love that oooooh noise. I want to make people make the oooooh noise. Mostly I get them to make the "aaaawwww" noise. Example: "Aaaaawwww, he's a little bit soft in the head, bless him".

I'm not ever going to be a magician. Firstly, I lack the determination. Secondly, nobody would trust me with keeping that stuff secret. I'm crap at that. I'd be all about the explaining it. What I can do though, is master the art of the magic card trick, and hope that I can make people make the "oooooh" noise.

It worked on Lady Northy. She seemed mightily impressed. First off I'd to buy a little book of magic card tricks, which was easy. Then I'd to pick a trick that's not too difficult, which was not easy, because some of them involved being sharp and quick. I'm dull and sluggish. There's also a glossary of little terms and terminology for card tricks. "The plant", "the swipe", etc etc. So I'd to pick one with as few of those in it as possible, because, let's be honest, there's no way I'm learning additional crap unless it's absolutely necessary.

I learned two tricks. In the process of learning them, I successfully tricked myself. Which I think is an achievement all on its own. How many people can say they're so good at magic card tricks that they confused and deceived themselves?

Here's a basic rundown: I tell the mark to split the deck, giving me one half, keeping one for themselves. I glance at the bottom card on my half. We both select a card from the centre of our stacks. The Mark is told to remember theirs and place it face down, on top of their stack. I place mine on the top of my stack. I place my stack on top of their stack. Because I've glanced down, I know what card is on top of the mark's card. So I can now announce what my card was, pretending that it was whatever I glanced at, then find the mark's card and both will be side by side.

See, I told you I couldn't be trusted with this stuff. Now, if you found any of that confusing, that's okay, it's because I'm such a cool magician.

I'm not boring you to death with the details of the second trick. If you see me in the pub, you can challenge me to show you. I'll be the one with the deck of cards waiting to show off...

Thing 331 Spur Steak Challenge

2011-03-18T20:59:00.001-07:00

WHAT WAS I THINKING???

It's four pounds of beef. I like a steak as much as the next guy, more so even, but this is just stupid. I didn't help my chances either, I've a bad habit of being talked into things by Siobhan on the Ray Darcy Show. They set up this little debacle for me ('cause they're nice like that). It was supposed to be on the Wednesday evening, and then we could have a chat with Ray the next morning, no problemo. But noooooo. Ray had to have it on air, and I, for some reason cannot say no to Siobhan.

So I went to Spur, at nine in the morning, and tried to eat four pounds of beef. Sixty four ounces of rump-steak. I'm an idiot.

Here's how the challenge works: You call up Spur Steakhouse in The Crescent Shopping Centre (for the Dubs reading this, I think there's one in the Liffey Valley Shopping Centre too), and tell them you want to try it. They arrange your date, and give you one hour to eat sixty four ounces of steak, with sides of chips, fried onions and coleslaw. I hate coleslaw by the way. If you can eat it, it's free. If you can't, it's sixty euro. That's right folks, you get to pay sixty euro to not finish your dinner. What a world we live in...
Not very appetizing is it? It was actually nice steak. Me with my tactics, I thought I'd get it cooked medium-well instead of my usual; bloody and dripping so I can soak up the juice with my chips. Nom nom nom. The more it's cooked, the smaller it becomes. Super clever right? Wrong. I don't like well cooked meat, so now I'm just eating more of something I don't like.

I'm so cock-sure though (less of the giggling please, the word cock isn't THAT funny). I was giving out about the coleslaw before the whole thing started. I don't want to eat it... as if the coleslaw was going to derail the entire thing, and not the baby sized portion of beef.

The guys in Spur were class though. Sound out, and very encouraging. The Boss inside there told me that none of the big guys ever finished it. It was always done by a small guy, not much larger than me, and professional rugby players had tried and failed. Sweet, I thought to my stupid self.

One guy in Dublin ate it in twenty one and a half minutes. He came back the following week, ate it in twenty two minutes and then had desert. I want to meet that guy and shake his hand. Leg-end.
The problem with talking about this stuff to Darcy is, that it being national radio, people find out about it. Local newspaper turned up, and I made the front page. Yep, a kind of fat guy, trying to eat steak. The Journo made me sound like a legend though, so my embarrassing failure wasn't as bad as previously thought. Other people from shops around The Crescent came down to the store to laugh at me through the window, and take photos. Can't blame 'em. Everyone loves a freak-show right?

So another failure. I ate about thirty ounces of steak. Not even half way. That's still nearly two pounds of beef, but there's no prizes for nearly-rans.

I've not eaten steak since. I guess it'll be a little while before I'm able for it.

Thing 330 Scientology Personality Test

2011-03-18T20:22:00.000-07:00

I've always been fascinated by Scientology. Not in the "can't wait to sign up" kind of way, more in the "how weird and sensational it seems" way. I can't get my head around it. It's their lack of sense of humour, all the while they preach about how honourable they are. It seems odd. Isaac Hayes, he played Chef in South Park, quit the show on the grounds that it mocked his religion too much. Tom Cruise is, well, he's Tom Cruise, and the less said the better, I don't want the man suing me.

It's a fully organised religion, which has it's own information department, which pumps out propaganda like there's no tomorrow. You should see it. The Scientology website has promotional videos. They're actually kind of creepy. Smiling people, pristine buildings, everyone grinning like idiots, and non stop talk about how amazing their religion is.

It's possible that I'm too long exposed to the mainstream media, and I've let South Park mock it for so long that I've started picking up the bad bits, but holy shit, do those people seem like they're bat-chit crazy. I watched the videos, half afraid that there was some way they might have been brainwashing me. Seriously, it was beyond creepy. Don't watch it, in case they get you...

Mental health is a big thing with these guys too. And they have personality tests for likely candidates to take. That's totally normal for any religion isn't it? To have your faithful congregation tested for personality defects? If that was normal for my faith, they'd probably be kicking me out. And God Boy too. Band Man also. Wow. We're a degenerate bunch of Christians.

So I took the test. It was long, and weird. It asked probing and strange questions. It went on for pages and pages. Non stop. "Do you think that your friends listen to your opinions?" A positive, negative or neutral answer box to tick for each one. "Are you a person who likes having responsibility?". "Do you experience black moods or rage". On and on it goes. If I'd been writing the questionnaire, I'd have definitely thrown in a few joke ones: "How much do you hate wearing pants?". "Have you ever wondered what a cat would look like if it could take off it's fur voluntarily?". My guess is that my line of questions probably says enough about me, and Scientology isn't famous for a sense of humour.

When it's all done and dusted, you've to take your reference number and head to the nearest Scientology Church to get your results.... Ammmmm.... I don't think so. In fact, I'll be avoiding the shit out of that one. I don't want to be brainwashed. I already love the leader.

Sorry. Bad Simpson's joke.

Thing 329 PRO Duties

2011-03-18T19:39:00.000-07:00

If there's one thing that I'll have to admit about this Project, it's that it's given me a serious amount of drive to get some stuff done. Stuff that I'd previously not have bothered my ass doing, or at very most, talked about doing, without ever actually getting 'round to the action bit, I'm actually getting done now. It's shocking. I don't know what to do with myself. It's been weeks since I procrastinated pointlessly.

So here's the latest one, I'm now the PRO for the Norris for President, Limerick Branch. Someone apparently thinks I've enough competence to be trusted with stuff. Apparently I'm all about the get-up-and-go these days. Part of the new me if you want to call it that. No more sitting on the sidelines for me, no sir. It's action or nothing.... I'm lying. Even as I typed those last few sentences I realised how much of a lie that is.

That's the motivation anyway. It's all about trying to get the drive for doing more than giving out. Which I do regularly and often.

So for the Thing, I discharged my first official duty as PRO. We held a meeting. Talked about how great Senator Norris is, and then we had some pints. Not exactly groundbreaking stuff. I sent some emails to some journalists. I talked some more about how great David Norris is and then I sang a few songs.

Perhaps choosing my brother's bar as a meeting venue wasn't the best choice... Thorny Wire loves it though.

As I said, the whole idea is to get involved. Stop whining and giving out about bad politicians (among many other things, like Liverpool Football Club and the severe lack of Kit Kat Chunky in so many shops). This is going to be my personal contribution to society.

On top of the getting involved bit, I like a bit of responsibility. I know that by the time comes to the election itself, there's going to be serious work required, electioneering, postering, papering, other things that start with p.

It's a long slog, and it's likely to be a challenging one. And it started here. Which is nice.

Thing 328 Don't Speak For a Day

2011-03-14T20:09:00.001-07:00

If you know me, then you're aware that me not talking for a whole day is about as likely as a genuine apology from a politician. If you don't know me then you may have already guessed from the excessively wordy blogs that I'm a mouthy, gabby asshole. I never know if I'm repeating myself or not, but in case I'm not, I'm going to tell this story over again. When I was about eleven months old I was talking. Not just one or two words, I was having actual conversations. Dad tells me that people followed him and mam around the shopping centre on grocery day, watching the tiny child talking to whoever would listen.

The problem, as my da pointed out in his toast on my 21st birthday, was that they couldn't shut me up. Nice one da. I lack the switch in my head that certain people have which allows them to stop their tongue from moving when they want to. I just keep talking...

I tried this thing twice before. Two fails and both inside of an hour or two of starting.
So I resorted to writing on my hand as a means of communication. Writing on anything really. It hurt my face not to be able to talk. Aside from anything else, it was ignorant as hell. The Barista thought I was drunk. Normally when I walk into Arabica, he says "hello Dan", and I typically (and probably too loud for the volume in the room) shout out "Hello". This time I walked in and he said hello, I just smiled and nodded. Apparently that's what he thinks I look like when drunk. So I felt rude. I wanted to make sure that if I did this Thing, I wouldn't just hide around the house. I'd get out and not talk. I had to scribble my coffee orders on beermats in O'Connell's at The Old Quarter. I think the staff there must have thought I was insane. They're not far wrong, to be fair to them.

The Canuck, like clockwork, of course, started baiting me. Politicians deserve more money, he told me. They don't get enough in pension payments. One of them definitely did not commit perjury. What a dick. I was seconds away from punching him, let alone just talking. To be honest I expected it. My friends are antagonistic from time to time. The Canuck more than most. Much love to the man.

So in the spirit of testing the limits of my no-speaking tolerance, the entire Sluggery crew got together and signed up for a table quiz. Imagine me, of all people, at a table quiz, where I can't open my mouth. Just answer questions with my pen and be quiet. It wasn't easy, but at this point I'd gone about nine and a half hours. Not one word spoken.

Table quiz rolls on, as table quizzes are wont to do, but I'm still not talking. We're not winning, we're in second or third, but all the time we were catching the front runners. Someone mentions someone at another table using their phone to check answers... danger... danger... I can feel it coming. Nothing said though.

Final round. We're about ten points behind the winning team, but there's ten points per question in this round. And, to add insult to injury, there's a question about airlines... no one else is going to know the answer except me and Token Northy. That's when Pony Boy lets a roar out: "Stop using google..."

"WHO'S GOOGLING???"

The words were out of my mouth before I knew what was happening. The worst part is that there were plenty of tables of people who knew me who all made that loud "oooooooooooooooh" noise, when they realised that I ruined it.

A whole day, no talking, nothing said, when I wanted to. Absolutely nothing uttered out of my mouth, and then I had to go roaring "Who's Googling". That's not even a real sentence. That's when the row starts. Because some people are claiming that since it's after midnight I've technically done it. Token Northy insists that the time was 23:59. One minute in the difference.

Not that it matters, the row was pointless. Thing doesn't end until I go to bed. So I'd failed. The lads said that the attempt itself counts as a new Thing. Token Northy and Pony Boy tell me that I should do something else that's new to make up for my failure.

So they pour me a glass of fishtank water. And I drink it.

For the millionth time: Stupid Project.

Thing 327 Unicylce

2011-03-14T19:26:00.001-07:00

Roll up, roll up... come see the great and dramatic Dan Mooney as he unicycles his way to a new career in Air Traffic Control. Watch the small bald man defy gravity and other physical laws as he wobbles and teeters his way to a life of fame and wearing make up for your amusement.

Alright, alright, this photo is mostly a lie. I think I managed about fifteen seconds of stable equilibrium. Max. The real reason for this is that I'm a clumsy balanceless monkey, and unicycling is god damned difficult. It's balance and stability on the rim of a small wheel. Why on earth did I think this was going to be easy? What part of my brain wasn't working when I made the assumption that I could just hop on board and unicycle around Kilaloe? Serious underestimation of the humble unicycle going on here.

We decided on a trip out to Kilaloe for some fun and games. Just me, Little Flower, Pony Boy and Dr Frasier. Kilaloe's a smashing spot. Nice food, lovely little pubs, river and a lake, stunning views, and a fat guy who can't balance himself. What more do you want from a Sunday evening?
There's a metaphor at work for this thing too. You can always lean on your friends. Proof is in my leaning on my friends. Bless their patience. You could hear Pony Boy's stomach rumbling in Nenagh, where the locals looked at the clear skies, heard thunder and assumed they'd angered the gods. Still, he stuck with me and stifled the worst of his laughing as I fell multiple times in a short space of time.

I'm hazarding a guess at about and hour and a bit spent with a saddle sticking up my arse. While I tried to use the damn thing. Worth it though. We could have stayed at home and done it, which would have been perfectly acceptable, but instead we went to some smashing scenic town in County Clare where we enjoyed a lovely evening after watching me fall over.
A big thanks to Token Northy and Sellin' Croon for their involvement. I'm pretty sure the unicycle belongs to one or both of them. Through their generosity, complete strangers walking on a Sunday evening were treated to a giggle as they watched me try, and fail miserably to balance. Those Sunday strollers owe them two boys for those laughs.

Still, if The Project is about trying new things and knocking some craic out of what would otherwise have been very mundane, then we're on to a winner with this one. I'll never do it again like, but I'm totally chuffed with my fifteen seconds of balance.

P.S. Hello Paul Keville!!!

Thing 326 Become a Godfather

2011-03-14T18:45:00.001-07:00

Yeah, I know what you're thinking, and yes, this is going to be a ridiculously cheesy blog. Sure just look at the photo up there, you know and I know it's going to be a stupidly sentimental blog. Look at the cute baby dammit. How could it not be?

My sister Ci Ci Doo and her hubby Puc It Out are a smashing couple. They're brilliant altogether, and they've three small little tornadoes that might actually be too cute for words. They've also got Grace. She's too small and wee to be a tornado yet. But if I know her ma and da, she'll be a vocal one when she's a little older.

Something that's been pointed out a few times by sarcastic and altogether not-as-funny-as-they-think-they-are mates: It's my fourth nephew/niece and I've not been chosen as Godfather before. It's because there were lots of outstanding people, including the legendary Thorny Wire to choose from. Plus, I came really close this one time.
By the by, that's me and Ci Ci Doo there. Extra sentimental photo moment. You can't tell because you're reading this and it doesn't come with sounds, but I'm making "aaaaaaaawwwwing" noises as I type. Go on. You know you want to... Everybody: Awwwwww.

So when Ellen was being christened, Puc It Out's brother was to be Godfather, but he got stuck in traffic, so I was asked to step in. Sweet. No sign of the man. I thought, yes, this is my moment. All the kissing up to Ci Ci Doo when I was a small fry (no small jokes please, they're cliches at this point) have paid off. I stood at the altar for about fifteen minutes, thinking it was my moment to shine when The Nice Fella walked into the church. Robbed. Oh well.

Smashing ceremony though. And The Nice Fella is, as his name suggests, a thoroughly awesome chap. Like I say, it's a sentimental blog full of niceness. Everyone's lovely in this blog.
Just look at all the family and the kids in that one. They're everywhere. I'm not going to make you awwww again, but I don't mind if you want to. First of all, I don't know what to do in such ceremonies. I pretty much just stood there waiting for the priest to ask me a question, secretly hoping he wouldn't. It's the same when I'm on a table quiz team. Pick smart people and sit quietly. Lap up plaudits later.

Before you know it, it's all done, and with minimal effort. But for some reason it's different now. Grace was my niece before the ceremony, and still my niece afterwards, but now we've got a tag we both share. It means extra presents for her, and wads of money every time I see her from about the age of four upwards. It also means that I'll be more than an uncle for the rest of her life. I know that both of my Godparents still keep their titles.

As is customary for Irish people, and for me in particular, there was a celebratory pint. At four months old, we all felt Grace was a little young for Guinness, but while her mam and dad took her home, the rest of us toasted her in the local.
Then we had a little party in the house. It was nice... full to the brim with kids, which made it entertaining to say the least, but lots of fun. So from now until the end of my days, I'll be Grace's godfather, and she'll be my godchild. I hope she's not the only one I get to claim for myself, but she'll always be the first.

Here's to you Grace!

Thing 325 Committee Meeting

2011-03-13T13:54:00.001-07:00

I've never been on a committee. I don't know how it works. Thankfully Dr Frasier is one of those people who likes to get involved with stuff and things, so he's been there. That's how he came up with the agenda. He played the role of "speaker" until we got a committee elected. I think somehow in my head, I confused "board of directors" with "committee" and insisted that everyone suit up. I mean I badgered people to wear a suit calling over to my house. Now that's assholery. "What? You're calling over? Wear a suit you bum". I've got a dress code for getting in.

A note on Spoon: When The Project was just a brilliant idea in my head (later to become the worst idea I've ever had. Stupid Project), I had a little leather bound book in which I wrote down all the ideas for Things that I wanted to do with the year. I'm pretty sure that of the first one hundred Things written into that book, sixty to seventy of them are his, or met with his approval. I'm pretty sure he was the first one in. So it's fitting he should be here, at the Project Committee meeting to decide the last six Things.

Honestly, I felt like we were mapping out the last days of my life. I'm pretty sure I'm still going to be alive on April 15th, I might feel like I'm dying, or wish I was dead, but I'll still be alive. Damn Committee Meeting made me feel like we were looking at my final days on earth. You better believe that if I know the times for those days I'll be doing something more fun than what these clowns mapped out for me.

So how fancy are we? We conference called to The Frenchman, because he wasn't at home. Sadly, because we're all giddy from wearing suits (I know how sad that last sentence seems), we basically spent the start of the conference call making ghost-jokes and fart jokes. We're not classy men. Then we moved on to elections. It didn't take long and here's what we came up with:

Chairman: Dan Mooney. Vice Chair: Pony Boy. Treasurer: Token Northy. Welfare Officer: The Frenchman (who promptly pointed out that there were no women on the committee. I nearly went upstairs and woke The Thief, who was napping, to add some variety... and take abuse). Blue Skies Thinking Co-Ordinator: Spoon. Secretary: Dr Frasier.

I personally love the idea of having a Blue Skies Thinking Coordinator. If I wasn't so excited about being Chairman of the Board, Frank Sinatra style, I'd be plugging for that one. As it stands though, chairman is pretty cool.

So I chaired a meeting of over-dressed barely post-pubescent "grown-ups" and we literally phoned in The Frenchman. The entire point wasn't missed either, we got some stuff sorted. I want the final few days of The Project to be big. Important. Immense. I want to hire Sky Sports marketing team to make new Things seem way more significant than they are. I want epic. I even booked the week off work, and that's no easy feat.

The Frenchman's contribution was to proceedings (as he drank a pint in Kilaloe) was not an idea, but a framework. Put the Things into categories, based on previous Things that were a success. Here's what we came up with:

Humiliating.

Physically Exhausting.

Something that's a Treat.

Something Humble.

Something Unexpected.

Something Scary.

Here's what we've got: In the last six days I'm going to; Sleep in a haunted house. Swim the Kilkee Bay. Pose nude for an artist. Hire a limo for the day. Auction myself off, with the proceeds going to charity. The final one is a secret, but it'll probably be something fun for me. Someone calling Ray Darcy's show last week suggested that I should present that for the last day. Something tells me that's a non runner. How cool would it be though.

If you've got any suggestions or ideas for how to execute these, because we're at a loss, that would be lovely. Seriously, we need help, not just professional psychological help, but your help with getting these Things done. All suggestions welcome. About a month left folks.

Thing 324 Tie Dye

2011-03-13T13:22:00.001-07:00

Tie Dye, from the latin words "tiedius dymus", which stranlates in English to "smelly hippy". Don't look that up, it didn't fully reference it, and may have made it up off the top of my head. I have nothing in common with hippies, except maybe facial hair. Possibly the occasional similar style of mumbling stuff that other people can't understand. My poor ma was at her wits end when I small over that one. I'm digressing...

Another thing me and hippies enjoy in common is a complete lack of anything approaching fashion sense. I can yell you all about football, rugby, politics, philosophy and aeroplanes... but fashion? Not happening. And while I know some people like going for the hippy look, let's be honest, it just makes you look like you smell.
For all of that cribbing and moaning about hippies, I've always thought that being confident enough will result in the ability to wear a tie-dye shirt or t-shirt. Fooey says I should have matching shorts, but there's a limit I think, and tie-dye shorts is probably where that line is at.

If you've got the swagger, and I mean that in the confidence sense, not the hip hop sense, then I'm pretty sure you can pull off most looks or fashions or fads. So here's hoping that when I pop into the O'Connell's at the Old Quarter in the next couple of days, with my multi-coloured t-shirt on, everyone in the place WON'T turn and stare at me. I'm full of swagger me.

I do often wonder about the modern day hippies though. I can understand why people from San Fransisco in the '70's wore the clothes they did, freedom of expression, free love, communism... all of that. What I don't understand are people in Limerick City, Ireland, where it rains more than they needed to float the damn Arc, who wear hippie clothes? They're just not practical. And for all the hippiness of the clothes, not a tie-dye t-shirt among them.
I cheated a little. I wanted to make my own tie-dye shirt, and I did that, but I may have bought a kids toy in order to achieve the same. It was sitting in the arts and crafts hobby shop in The Crescent, right in between "Make You Own Jewellery" and "Make Your Own Diary", all in suspiciously pink wrappers.

I'm pretty sure that this tie dye kit was intended for girls, but I'd have though tie-dying was pretty non gender specific. Does that say more about me than it should? Anyway, hot water, some strips of died string and some time.

The result is pictured above. At the top. You dare me to wear it into town some night? Challenge accepted...

Thing 323 Game Testing

2011-03-12T10:01:00.000-08:00

Obviously that's not the back of my majestic head. That's Spoon, doing his thing which he does so well. Programming. His job? He's a computer games developer. They gave him fancy parchment what says so. Personally I think that's a class job, if computer games are something you love, and Spoon does love 'em. Surely getting to work with something you love has to have you heading for work everyday with a spring in your step. What you don't see are the endless, repetitive and non stop lines of code required to make even the most basic programming adjustments.

When Spoon started his most recent Project "Arc" he looked like a healthy, hale and hearty young man. Sure he smokes his cigarettes and drinks maybe a tad too much coffee (hey, it's not like I can talk), but overall he seems in fine fettle.

When I came over to officially "game test" the "Arc" game he looked haggard. He won't enjoy reading this, and I'm sorry big lad, but holy god did he ever look drained. Weeks and weeks of non stop programming, getting a crisp and even "screen tan" from being sat in front of a monitor. Poor lad.
So what's in the life of a game tester? Well, after the hard work has been done, and thousands of hours from dozens of programmers are have been completed, the tester turns up, plays the game and then bitches about what's wrong with it. I imagine that must drive the programmers absolutely batty.

Good life for a gamer eh? Play computer games and chill for the day? Well, not quite that either. The game at the testing phase isn't actually ready to be played. So you're talking about sitting down to not play a game, tell someone who knows better what's wrong with it, wait a little, and repeat.

It's funny how you can have a view of a job and a lifestyle, and be completely and utterly wrong.
Arc itself is thoroughly excellent. It's a futuristic racing game in which you can use weapons and bonuses for yourself and against your opponent. I like a good racing game, but I've always been partial to racing games that aren't realistic. Mario Kart, and Arc are good examples. I don't want to drive modern fancy cars on actual roads. I want fake, fancy and fun.

Can't wait for Arc to be ready though. You'll be able to play it on x-Box live, and then you'll know what I'm talking about.

Thing 322 Pay With Pennies

2011-03-12T09:12:00.001-08:00

Morning after a night out, you wake up a little groggy, it's to be expected. You check your phone to make sure you didn't text your mates to tell them how much you love them. You either heave a sigh of relief or hang your head in shame. Next you check your wallet/handbag to see what the financial toll is. Almost inevitably you cringe when you see how little you have left, and try to repress the memory of going back to the ATM for money for a kebab and taco fries. Then you realise it's not as bad as you thought. The reason? You've got thirty six euro and seventy eight cent in change in your arse pocket.

You scratch your head. Try not to worry about it and you send Pony Boy out for chicken rolls and cans of coke.

I hate the shrapnel. I feel like it's some kind of spiteful trick being played on me. I always spend change faster than notes, mostly because I rarely take the time to count out what it's worth, I just shell out. This proves costly.

Combine this with my coppers-habit. I NEVER carry coppers on me. Whenever I find them, wherever I find them, I dump them into a small wicker basket on the fireplace. I've been doing this for a year now. I'm not saving for ought in particular, just to put the coppers somewhere...

I decided where I want to put them...
The Thorny Wire is most unimpressed. Darty Darts is having a chuckle about it. He does that a lot, it's his good nature.

So I packed up every one of the coppers I've been stashing for the last year and decided to get my revenge. I decided to pay for all my drinks with shrapnel. No money withdrawn from the ATM. Nothing in paper form in my wallet. Just coppers and nothing else. I'm the young male version of that old lady you don't want to be stuck behind in the queue in the supermarket.

This is my way of paying shrapnel back. However this genius idea comes with its own drawbacks. I've to count the money out. Fishing from a little briefcase stuffed full of money that's generally regarded as worthless. At three euro a pint, one for me and one for The Frenchman comes to an irritating six euro. That's one hundred and twenty five cent coins. Three hundred two cent coins. You can do the math on the pennies yourself there.

This is problematic for two reasons. One: I lack patience. I mean I've almost none. Two: Time spend counting is banter-time wasted. After the initial irritation of having to accept my crap cash, I think Thorny Wire started to enjoy laughing at my rapid fire attempt at counting.
Does that look like a happy face to you? Thought not.

Personally I think I'd do better if I just learned a lesson and started spending the money the night before instead of waking up with all the crap shrapnel the next day. It would make a bit more sense right? When have I ever made sense...?

Thing 321 Stop Motion Video

2011-03-11T15:35:00.000-08:00

Pony Boy suggested that I should make a stop motion video for The Project. I think it was early days, but he warned me that it would take me hours and hours. I tend not to listen to such frivolous warnings. I am Dan, and if I choose to shoot a stop motion video inside of an hour and a half then that's exactly what I'll do.

This is a fine idea in theory. Sadly I constantly overestimate my own ability to get the job done. It took seven and a half hours to make two minutes and fifty seconds of video. Would have been longer except that Top Cat was doing the editing.

So this is how it went down:

I told The Frenchman that I wanted to make a stop motion video. He told me he'd no plans, and little else to do for the evening. Top Cat called. I told him, he wanted to join in, but wouldn't be finished work until close to midnight. This is known as the perfect excuse to stay up late and drink wine...

Bah. As if we needed and excuse.

Top Cat joins and we throw together the basic idea for a script (At this point there was very little wine taken, and it's only just gone midnight): Some lego-people playing the part of politicians will meet to discuss the new formation of a new Government. Hilarity will ensue. We'll cobble together a script as we go.

Top Cat cuts out some faces, The Frenchman sets up the camera... we get ready to roll...

Three hours later...

Four bottles of wine are now empty, we're cracking open a few beers and we've got the rough outline of a script, near to three hundred photos taken, we're singing Enya, and for some reason Joan Burton is a skeleton. Most of the characters have actual masks on, and we're making less sense but laughing an awful lot more.

Three hours later...

The beer is gone, it's after six in the morning, the rest of The Sluggery is about to get up for work and we've had ketchup bottles, salt, more Enya and a tiny drop of sipping whiskey thrown into the mix. Now Top Cat is now taking over the show, he edits and we supervise, as if we'd know what we were looking at. We kept laughing non stop though. I think we all found it completely hilarious. We laughed our asses off.

Sleep deprivation and drink will do that to you. Everything is hilarious.

Here's the fruit of our labour: Click here for complete insanity.

Feel free to share that around. We're not ashamed of our insanity.

Now what's obvious is that while we all thought this was entirely hilarious at the time, the cold light of day, mixed with sobriety caused our little creation to have a different effect. We still liked it, but now we realise that the entire thing was completely bat-shit insane.

What was Enya doing in there? Why so much ketchup? Why a skeleton? I think we may all need to consult a professional about the well being of our collective mental health.

Moral of the story? Pony Boy was right, it does take ages to make a stop motion video. It also takes four hundred and fifty odd photos and some fun editing software. I ought to pay more attention to that guy.

Thing 320 Read Mein Kempf

2011-03-11T14:56:00.000-08:00

Probably the most controversial book ever written. And it's just like my sixth year history book promised me it would be: a complete snooze-fest. I mean seriously, I've never been so bored when trying to read a book, and I've read history books that were untouched by human hand in twenty years when I was in college. Now that kind of book would just bore you to tears.

Now when I say I read it, I should be more clear, after the first two chapters I started kind of skimming. I was reading it, but most of the words weren't going in. And by two chapters later I was so bored that I turned on some Earthworm Jim cartoons to have in the background. It gets worse though, I kept reading and eventually I hit sleeping point.

Continuing reading got painful on my eyes. I persevered, mostly because, like watching a terrible movie, it's hard to switch it off when you know that by finishing it, you'll have achieved something great, which is only great because of its awfulness. An achievement of terribleness. It still counts as an achievement.

I always loved history. In school we'd a class history teacher who gave you a good old interest in the subject, while not forcing you into nonsense learning that none of us were really interested in. I specifically remember my history book (being covered in doodles; "Dan woz ere", as if you wanted to know) telling me that Mein Kempf was boring and repetitive. I kept thinking; "there's no way that's possible. This book started wars. It HAS to be controversial.

Nope.

Shockingly boring. There was chapters and chapters of how a young Adolf loved the Austrian countryside. How his dad had worked hard to become a civil servant, and showed all the people who had written him off as a young man. Riveting stuff (sarcasm doesn't really work in text does it). It should be mandatory punishment for people to have to read it.

Even the controversial stuff was crap. It made no sense and it was rambling. While I was tired, it still doesn't count as being an excuse for a book to be so unbelievably crappy. For the most controversial figure in world history, Hitler was boring as hell.

If you're looking for a happier alternative there's always the Harry Enfield alternative classic: "I'm Kamp". It's shorter, but a lot flashier.

Thing 319 Election Commentary

2011-03-10T18:01:00.001-08:00

Okay, not that it's going to matter to you now, since it's now nearly two weeks since we had an election, but here's a link to my election commentary, which was my Thing for the day. CLICK FOR BITTERNESS AND HILARITY. The only slight problem was that i didn't think it all the way through, so you've to scroll back through the older posts to get to the start. I've set you up with the first few there, if you do want to have a look, but you'll have hit newer posts, to get up to the later posts.... that made sense in my head. I think.

I started the day bright and chirpy after yet another night shift. Straight from work finishing at eight in the morning to The Sluggery, pick up The Frenchman and then hit the road for Nenagh to cover the North Tipperary constituency for Newstalk 106-108. The Frenchman and I were roving reporters for the day.

It's not my first time covering an election. Hell it's not even my first time covering an election in North Tipp - I was here for Newstalk in 2007 too, back in my journalist days as a mouthy young man. Now I'm a mouthy slightly less young man, it's an important distinction.

Because the morning time was full of the promise of the day, and it was bright and cheerful, it was easy to be upbeat about the prospects of a day's worth of political commentary. I was looking forward to providing the funniest, yet most informative political coverage I could manage while not neglecting my Newstalk duties.

As the day wore on... well that's a different kettle of fish.

I became bitter, tired and cranky. It got dark fast, and there was no sign of a first count. The wind started to bite a little, and I'd spent the day living entirely on lucozade, kit kats and banter with The Frenchman and the RTE crowd. Funny guys and girls, but not funny enough to snap me out of my grump.

The political commentary became less "witty banter" and more "scathing attack and all around nasty assholery of a bitter twisted angry little man". According to some of the mates reading it, it made for hilarious reading. According to Top Cat it made me sound like a whiny little bollox. I tend to trust his word on such matters.

The highlight of the day came when the final count was coming in. Newstalk wanted to take it live. We'd all missed the second count, because the returning officer caught us unaware. This time he promised he wouldn't start announcing till we were ready. Cue technical difficulties. Enter: RTE. There was a lovely woman named Kathleen from RTE who stalled the entire count, to get me ready and set to go live to Newstalk.

How's that for fun? Labour's Alan Kelly and Fianna Fail's Maire Hoctor both had to wait till I was ready. Now that's a first I won't forget in a hurry. Anyway, that was the final count of the day. Home for half eleven. Town for twenty to twelve. Pints and banter ensued. They were well earned that day!

Thing 318 Chat with a Junkie

2011-03-10T17:35:00.000-08:00

Obviously enough the photo contained here is not exactly in keeping with the theme of the blog. Once again I point to personal motivation as a reasonable excuse. One does not point a camera and click when you're sitting with a very unstable man...

I was wracking my brain trying to think of a Thing for the day. I'd come off a night shift the night before and I'd stayed in bed a little later than normal. It may have been mentioned before but I'm occassionally lazy. I decided to put my brain to work on the problem, and to have cup of tea while I did it. Down to Old Quarter for a sit down. I deserve it, after all, I have been in bed all day and done nothing of consequence. If that doesn't deserve tea...

He was about twenty or twenty one. Shaved head. Clearly extremely cagey. He walked in to the smoking area of the Old Quarter and asked me for a cigarette. I obliged. He went to say something and the staff drifted over to him. "Sorry mate, you can't stay in here if you're not a customer". He got aggressive quickly, and the situation didn't look like it was going to get fun any time soon. He turned to me and asked if he could sit down. I couldn't think of any reason to say no, so I told him no problem...

"Why are they trying to hunt me out" he said, his words slurred. He rubbed at his forehead which had a nasty fresh scar just over the eyebrow. His knuckles were raw looking too. Either he'd been fighting in the last few hours, or some wall had taken a desperate beating.

"I think it's because you're very drunk lad", I told him.

"I'm not drunk" he said, "I've only had a naggin' of vodka. I'm f***in' high though man. Like trippin' altogether kid".

I didn't know what to say, so I kind of laughed. The staff came back out. Asked him to move along. He told them he was sitting with his friend and they could flip off. He didn't say flip though. He was getting aggressive again, so I asked him to relax a bit.

"Sorry bud", he said, "I know I'm a bit out of hand. I just gave my girlfriend's new fella a hiding there, and I'm not long out of jail". For reasons completely unknown to me, this guy was totally relaxed when talking to me, and edgy as hell every time he looked at anyone else. We ordered him some tea and he leaned back in his chair, smoking his cigarette.

"I don't want to go back to jail at all" he said, to no one in particular. I told him he didn't have to. He nodded. I poured his milk for him, and by now I'm thinking this is one of the most surreal cups of tea I've ever drank. He struggled opening the seven packets of sugar he put in, so I gave him a hand, and stirred it too.

"Like Bob Marley said kid, stir it up..." and he smiled as he said it. Then he reached out and picked up the teapot and poured me a cuppa. He spilled it absolutely everywhere and spent about five minutes apologising.

We sat there, me and him, with the staff watching from about five feet away for a good ten to fifteen minutes. He talked, mostly incoherently, but sometimes about his family, his drug use, his drinking and his love of Bob Marley.

Then just as quick, he got up, took what was left of his tea. Shook my hand and wandered off down the street where a mate of his was waiting.

It was the most surreal experience I've had in a while. Kind of made me sit up and realise how soft I have it, and how many people are either left behind, or deliberately leave themselves behind. I laughed straight afterwards, but the more I think about it, the more it strikes a chord with me. Can't put my finger on it, but it's definitely staying in my head.

Thing 317 Salsa Class

2011-03-10T17:04:00.000-08:00

This isn't the first time I've taken a dance class for The Project. I took the world's most embarrassing solo Set-Dancing class there a few months ago. But salsa, now this is a little more up my street. Mostly because there's more hip-gyrating and I've been impersonating Elvis for several years now. Not like a real impersonator, just that I like swinging the old hips when an Elvis track comes on.

The other plus side here is that you didn't have to bring a partner to Salsa class. The crowd is big enough, and mixed enough, and you're forced to change partners all the time anyway, so I think it's unlikely that anyone realised that I was the weirdo who came all on his own. Like a weirdo. Who does that, seriously? Goes to a salsa dancing class on their own. It's a good thing I've such a high tolerance for personal shaming.

Now it's safe to say I'm not the clumsiest of my mates, not by a good distance. The Ginger Gem once went from standing to falling with no intervening steps. He didn't trip on anything, or get interfered with in any way, he's just so clumsy that he fell over straight from standing. I'm not exactly co-ordinated though. I'm an okay dancer, way too self-conscious about it for some reason, but I think that's because I'm so aware that it's not my strong suit.

Surprisingly, I actually picked this up quite fast. It's not hard in the beginners stages, and it's a surprising amount of fun for something that actually had me sweating buckets. I paint the picture of an ideal dance partner right? First off, I came in on my own, which is a little odd. Next I dance from partner to partner sweating and smiling like a lunatic. Who doesn't want to dance with that eh?

The funny bit was the level of competence from the other dancers. Some were excellent and danced the instructed steps perfectly, others were struggling badly, and tripped over themselves when they weren't being robot-stiff. My favourites though, were the ones who didn't give a rats ass. They heard the first three instructions about swinging hips and that was more than enough. They looked like they were having fun: To hell with the actual dance steps, why bother when you can swing your hips like some kind of demented lunatic. There were three of those. As I say, my favourites.

I think it would make a cool date for a couple. Nothing else to do on a Thursday night, work the next morning. Pop off to a salsa class, get some exercise, have a banter and there's no point in denying it, done well, salsa is sexy as hell. Mind you, I don't think it's just for couples, there were plenty of ladies and gents who'd arrived in groups for lessons and the salsa club afterwards.

Done like me and it's a comedy. But probably worth watching anyway. I may be a tad hard on myself, I was better than mediocre, which is just about all I ask of myself. If you're knocking around Limerick and fancy giving it a go, here's a link for facebook page that'll show you what's what...

SALSA (Not the dip).

A fun night, with a salsa club afterwards for those interested... If I can do it, you're probably a shoe in.

P.S. For reasons that should be obvious, I didn't take photos. I thought the arriving on my own and sweating profusely were more than creepy enough, so I gave taking photos of strangers a miss for this night. Probably for the best eh?

Thing 316 Air Balloon Message

2011-03-10T14:25:00.001-08:00

Remember the message in a bottle Thing? This is kind of like that except with balloons full of helium. A note on helium; it's running out at a ridiculous rate. No one seems to be aware of this, but it might be one of the most limited resources on earth. See, every day is a school day folks. Keep on learning.

The inspiration for this one came from a kid in a primary school in England. He sent off a note in a helium balloon as a class project. It came down, eventually in the gardens of Buckingham Palace. One gardener passed it up to a more senior gardener who passed it to a butler, I'm assuming, who gave it to another butler, I'm assuming and it ended up on The Queen of England's lap. She wrote back. How cool is that? I'm not saying I was hoping for a letter from England's Queen, but if someone interesting with a story to tell had found the message it would have been class.
For some reason I find balloons kind of sinister these days. Don't ask what the reason is, because I couldn't tell you, but for some reason I've qualms about carrying balloons around with me. Also, I think I'd probably be suspicious if I saw some carrying a note. I'd suspect clowns for starters, and they're always sneaky. I think I blame the sinister nature of balloons for the fact that two weeks later no one has replied to me. That or the balloons came down off the coast and are currently being washed out to America, in which case I may have to wait for a few weeks for a reply. I will not hold my breath.

It's a fun idea, and I think a good idea for kids. I keep meaning to pick up more balloons and bring them over to my nieces and nephew. Have them draw up some pictures and the five of us could send the messages off. I think that would be a pretty cool way to pass the day with the small ones.

Mind you there's nothing at all creepy or weird about a bunch of twenty-somethings doing the same thing. It's perfectly normal and acceptable. I swear.
It's a little disappointing not to get something back. I'm a tad alarmed about how much I care about the life of a stranger, but it might be nice to find something out about someone through the medium of airborne balloons.

Mind you, if there are complete strangers reading this: and I do hope so. Feel free to drop me a mail for no reason at all. I promise not to call you a weirdo.

Also, feel free to steal this idea for the next time you're babysitting tiny relatives.

Thing 315 Burn a Bra

2011-03-10T08:39:00.000-08:00

I took a module in Gender Studies when I was in second year in college. It was one semester long. There were two men in the class. Had I but taken the time to read the course outline we'd have had a different kettle of fish. I'd have studied literally anything else. No messing, I'd have taken a module in paint-drying studies or tax law ahead of this. For some reason I had it in my head that Gender Studies was going to be a complex look at the differences between boys and girls. Not just on their respective bits you perverts, I meant in sociology, economics and politics. What I got was a semester of thinly veiled man-bashing. Even I hated the man-bastards after a few months of it. Omitting women from history like that... Seriously though, it was interesting, but not at all what I was expecting.

One thing we did learn is that it's unlikely that bra-burning was a significant phenomenon in any way shape or form. No one is claiming that it didn't happen once or twice, just that it was not a major movement. It's a little disappointing when someone shatters your well established illusions. I'd visions of female rage being expressed in bonfire form.

Still, it doesn't stop me from doing it, for fun, as a Project Thing. Striking very little in the way of a blow for female kind. Whatever about Gender Imbalance in Irish politics and business, the facts are simple enough in The Sluggery. Lady Northy is the boss of one corner of the house, she shares power with Little Flower, The Thief and Tiny Fairy. The men of The Sluggery do not call the shots.
Interesting thing to note about burning a bra. They do not burn easily. I took a lighter to the material, which flamed briefly and smouldered, then it went out. I tried another side. Nothing. Well I won't be defeated, and I love torching things (doesn't make me sound like a pyromaniac at all eh?) so I fetched the methylated spirits. Yeah, that's right, we have our own stock of methylated spirits. It's not weird. It's perfectly normal.

Fire ensues.

I don't feel like I've done any more for women's lib. I'm not addressing the much talked about imbalances in our new Government. I haven't contributed to the gaps of significant women in history. But I did get to burn stuff in a symbolic act of something or other that I'll pretend was noble if anyone asks about it later.
Yeah, like I said, definitely not a pyromaniac. At all. Photographic evidence like this should be deleted for fear that I ever get married or am accused of burning something or feature in any news article that doesn't relate to The Project.

Shortly after this snap was taken I realised I was burning the deck, and Token Northy had to get the hose out and quench the fire. I knew there was a reason we keep him around.

Thing 314 Online Poker

2011-03-10T06:04:00.000-08:00

I'm pretty sure that the only thing on the internet making more money than online poker, is porn. Porn makes money everywhere, at every time, all over the shop, but the online poker industry is massive. There are ads for it every fifteen minutes on television after eight pm and if you spend any time online at all you've already seen three hundred and nineteen thousand ads at least.

Two stories about poker that I feel I should tell you now. First: Me, Top Cat, Band Man and God Boy haven't played poker since 2008 after "The Event". You're talking about four best friends, and I think we were about five minutes away from punches over a game of cards. My memory is a little hazy but I'm pretty sure it was everyone else's fault except mine. Ahem. Don't look into it though. It started over someone calling a worse hand then they actually had, but you have to play the hand you call... I don't want to talk about it after that.

Second: I played some poker with some mates about a year and a half ago. That was seriously the last time I've played. I lost. Badly. I want to say I lost everything, but that's overly dramatic, I'd only staked twenty quid. The point is, I don't play often and I play badly. This is not a fun combination. Sort of like disliking rain and having a fear of umbrellas.

There are people who have quit their jobs to make their money playing online poker. It's real money you're playing for, you can find a game online at any time of the day or night, and there are tables for newcomers and beginners that good players can blag their way in to, to fleece all the idiots. I include myself in that idiots bit.

But as if that wasn't already making it hard enough for newcomers there are bot nets. I didn't just make that up. Real thing. Look it up. Basically a simple computer program which is hidden one someone else's hard drive and plays online poker for it's creator. It wins a lot. So the smart computer guy doesn't even have to be good at poker, just maths, and he can clean up on poker games. Making me go red in the face and curse at my screen. Over and over again. Apoplectic with rage, until I end up rocking back and forth and cursing my luck.

This is why I shouldn't play poker with people either by the way. I'm a bad loser.

Once your account is set up, you'll have some free money to spend, and by that I mean lose. It's a tough goddam sport. If you're lucky. I think the worst thing that could have happened to me was if I'd succeeded. That's when I'd have got drunk on money and winning and I'd have started upping the ante and spending money that's not free. Then when I'd lost that I'd have spent more money trying to win it back... impulsive personality much? It's a slippery slope people.

Overall, it's not a positive experience. Playing poker with me never is...

Thing 313 The Old Firm

2011-03-09T19:14:00.001-08:00

I thought the buzz in the Gallowgate on Saturday was something else. I've never seen anything like this. I've been a Munster fan for as long as I can remember, and I've experienced some of the legendary Thomond Park atmosphere. It is, rightly, one of the most intimidating places for any team to visit, because the crowd can turn the game. Thomond Park, my spiritual home, the seat of Munster's finest moments, is about seventy percent of what the atmosphere is like at Celtic Park.

From the moment we got out of the hotel and joined the other streams of people heading for the East End the buildup was nuts. Have you ever had one of them hangovers where you're dying sick, but also giddy? No? Just me then. It was weird. "Hail hail" from every other guy in green and white. Didn't spot a sinlge Rangers' jersey, which was lucky I think. It's not that the atmosphere was bad, just I wouldn't like to think that things would turn ugly, and they apparently did that night.

Celtic Park is passed the Gallowgate and the closer you get, the more densely packed the streets get with jerseys and songs. Which has a weird affect if you're suffering from a weird hangover. Giddy: Love songs and crowd. Dying: Hate songs and crowd.

Inside the ground the singing starts and sixty thousand or so people belt out "Let the People Sing" and "You'll Never Walk Alone". The second one will make the hairs stand up on your arms. The scarves come out, and the whole ground joins in. The Rangers fans start booing and for a couple of seconds you can actually hear them, that's when the Celtic crowd come back even louder and then you can't even hear yourself. It's just one voice. It's something else to be a part of.

The match lasted about seven minutes. Well, not really, it lasted ninety-three minutes, but you don't feel that pass. Particularly when your team are winning three nil. Might have been a different kettle of fish if Celtic had lost, but the whole winning thing definitely improves your health - hangover or not.

You know, despite the old degree in English I feel like my words aren't really summing this up. Awesome is the word. I mean that in the literal sense. It inspires awe. It's tiring though... and how. I was absolutely drained from it about an hour after the match. There was one point where I turned to Thorny Wire and I shouted something. It was at least three sentences long, and I was full sure it was in English. Thorny Wire assures me that if it was spelled out, the sentence would look like this:

"Thwwwweeeeyrrrreee gooooooonnnnnnnnnnngggggggiiiiiinnnnniinnniinn huuuuuuuuuuuummmmmmmm. Looooooooooooooooooooocccchhhhhhhhh".

Now imagine that shouted at you by some smiling lunatic? Yep. You just kind of get caught up in the atmosphere. It sweeps you away. Whether you want it to or not.
There's Thorny Wire and Dark Cloud. The ringleaders of our little posse. God, ringleaders seems a poor choice of words but you get where I'm coming from.

Anyway, if the idea of the Project was to break out of the monotony and learn something new about myself and the world around me then this Old Firm, and the entire trip to Glasgow was a really good idea... but good god did it ever tire me out.

Thing 312 The Gallowgate

2011-03-09T13:25:00.001-08:00

First and foremost, Glasgow is a really lovely city. The people are fantastic, the city centre is hopping on the weekends, and is, according to The Thief, among the best shopping you can do anywhere in Britain and Ireland. I want to make that clear now, because what I'm saying after might give the impression that I didn't like or enjoy my trip. I did, but The Gallowgate is something else. Something really to be seen. It will not translate well into this blog, but I'll give it a shot. At very least, I'll be a valiant loser in the effort. I've been some form of loser or other for many years now...

So, important to remember: I like Glasgow. Keep that in mind.

Now... The Gallowgate, and the Barrowlands (also known as The Barras) are in Glasgow's East End. The Barrowland Market is like nothing I've ever seen. I've been in a Honk Kong market before, and it had nothing on the absolute bedlam of Barrowlands. I'm nearly certain that there's nothing that can't be bought there. A few years back the local law enforcement started clamping down on illegally obtained goods, be they forgeries or stolen, so now those items are under the counter, but can be picked up by asking. Mind you, if they think you're not who you say you are, then you're in for a tough time. Apparently. I wouldn't know. There was no way on earth I was going to be brave enough to try asking, with my big tourist head and google-eyes on me.

Limerick City has a nasty reputation here and abroad. Sometimes it's justified. There are some pretty shit people living here and they've got guns. Mostly though, Limerick is a beautiful city, with a rich history and a proud sporting tradition, and at least we're doing something about the problems here, and not pretending they don't exist... not looking at any other Irish cities in particular. Ahem. The point is, that I'm sure Glasgow is the same...

Look, I'm walking on eggshells here, I may as well come out and say it: The Gallowgate is dog-rough. A fight broke out in a bar we were in because one of the guys there had a blue tshirt on. No kidding. One guy legged it out of the bar, and the next time the front door opened, the guy who'd legged it, fired an empty vodka bottle in. OVER A BLUE T-SHIRT.

That's the thing, in that part of Glasgow, you better be wearing Green. There are old Irish ballads blasting out of shops as you walk passed. The bars are covered in Irish flags, Celtic jerseys, scarves and pictures of Irishness. The locals have Scottish accidents, they were born in Glasgow and their parents probably were too, but they're not Scottish. They're Irish. Don't call them Scottish. They don't like it.

"Let the People Sing", "Sean South", "Joe McDonnell" are played, over and over. And you'll walk from one bar to another and the music doesn't change. It's Irish songs or nothing. A five minute cab drive into the city and you can't get in anywhere with a jersey or any club insignia, but here, wearing one is the best way to let everyone else know that you're on their team too.

Which is where the nice bit of it comes in: I don't know how many times I was told that I was "welcome to the world's largest family". Everywhere I walked it was "hail hail". Celtic fans in Glasgow absolutely love other Celtic fans. The atmosphere is incredible and the banter and the singing is pretty much nonstop, as long as you're aware of the little details mentioned above.

God... I haven't even come close to describing it properly, but I can safely say that my trip to the Gallowgate was one of the most unique experiences ever. I also ate "neeps and tatties". Gotta love making food a Project Thing. Even if it is weird.

P.S. Have I mentioned that I really like Glasgow? I have? Good.

Thing 311 Eat Haggis

2011-03-09T05:03:00.001-08:00

I went to Glasgow. So as you may have guessed, the next three Things will relate to Scotland a little bit. For example; that long "battered sausage" is actually "battered haggis". Mmmmm. Haggis. Heart, liver and lungs of a sheep, minced and cooked, only to be later battered and sold to me for a pound. Tastes like pudding, except stronger, more robust. I don't know how else to phrase that, but that's pretty much what it was.

According to Danny Bhoy the Glasweigan comedian, who is hilarious by the way, Scottish people have the worst diet in the world. I think I'd be inclined to agree. There's more "battered something-or-other" and "deep-fried other-thing" available than you can shake a stick at. And there are lots of chippers in Glasgow. I thought there was a few in Limerick... wow, does Glasgow love a bag of chips or what?
Thorny Wire was part of the reason that I bothered trying to eat it in the first place. Part of the reason is that a) he's a very convincing liar, and managed to make me believe that the heart,liver and lungs of a sheep are delicious or b) is slightly insane and actually believes that haggis is not merely "tasty" but entirely delicious and to be taken seriously as a form of food. Look at the head on him: Is it a or b folks? I leave that to you...

As I say, I didn't think it was delicious. I thought it was okay. I found it to be an acceptable dish. I wouldn't recommend it to you. I wouldn't warn you to avoid it. Haggis is to taste buds what potato flavour is to soup. Middle of the road.

I think maybe I'm just getting a little complacent about grub. My classic sense of outrage at having to think about side the box in terms of food has been eroded since the beginning of The Project, to the point that I'm nearly sure now that there's nothing I won't try. And it would want to be pretty manky for me to have a problem with it. After all, I did drink my own pee once...

It just always seems to come back to that one... I think it'll haunt me.

Thing 310 Drive a Convertible With the Top Down

2011-03-07T12:57:00.000-08:00

I wonder sometimes at my own wisdom, or lack thereof. Who in there right mind (though no one is arguing that I'm in my right mind by the way) puts up such a complete douchebag photo of themselves? Honestly? Who? It's just that if you're going to drive a convertible in Ireland in February with the top down, you're looking like a douche whether you want to or not, so I figured I may as well go the whole hog.

I got my white polo t-shirt, and tied the arms of a jumper over the shoulders. I put on shades. It was so cloudy it may as well have been the evening time, but there I was, in my shades with top down on the car. No half measures here - it's all douche or no douche.

Convertibles are funny. Universally all convertibles look pretty cool, but for all their sporty character, I'm just not sure I could ever drive one. Even something as cool as Hee-Hee's Z4. It's a conundrum you see - great car, looks cool, turns heads, but it's flashy as hell, and while I'm not exactly a shrinking violet, I still think that driving one of these things might be a bit showy, even for me.

Having said that, who doesn't want to drive a convertible with the top down at some point in their lives? I think it's one of the more universal "Things".
Ugh. I shudder just looking at that photo. I think The Frenchman's camera magnifies the douchery - I was full sure I didn't look like that much of an ass when I was hopping into that car.

So we went for a spin, me and HeeHee. Out of The Sluggery and into town, passing by as many people-filled sites as we could for maximum effect. Mary Immaculate College, The Crescent Shopping Centre, Henry Street and so on. We also went for coffee, pulling up outside Arabica while The Barista looked on. I think that man is starting to get bored of my stupidity at this stage.

And of course the inevitable happened; I bumped into several people that I knew. Worse than that though, was that they're the kind of people who I don't know well enough to be able to explain that I'm dressed like an asshole for a good reason. So I didn't even bother. I just allowed them to think that I'm a tool.

Which I am.

Thing 309 Make Balloon Animals

2011-03-07T11:53:00.000-08:00

Sadly there are no instructions (that I could find) online on how to make a balloon-tommy-gun, which was my intention (I've been watching The Mask recently), so I had to settle for balloon dog and balloon giraffe with ridiculously long tail for some reason. Like juggling, I had a particular motive in mind here. Bean Bag and Thorny Wire don't know this (and I'm not sure that they read this blog. Hmmmph), but I'm competing with them to be the favourite amongst our nieces and nephew. I'm losing badly, but I think balloon animals and juggling are going to put me over the edge.

Some things to note if you want to do this yourself: Normal balloon won't do. You've to buy really big balloons that are about a foot and a little bit long, and it's not possible to blow them up without a pump. Seriously. Attempting to blow them up on the strength of your own lung-power will end in embarrassment, a seriously red face and dizziness. Take my word for it. I do stupidity and embarrassment so you don't have to.

After that it's easy peasy. Except try not to grip too tight, or make twists too small as this results in bursting (of the balloon, not you) and the occassional girly yelp when you get a fright. Which is also embarrassing.
That's the unfortunate giraffe with gigantism of the tail. I'm damn near certain their tails' aren't that long, but as you're aware by now, I'm a tad stupid from time to time and the result is this.

The internet is choc full of instructional videos and websites which show you how to make the animals in a tone and language that seems to be addressing you as a four year old. Thankfully this is appropriate for me, but you might find it a little condescending. As I was reading I could practically hear the annoying kids' TV show make-and-do presenter voice.

I think I'm going to start using that voice about the house more often just to see if I get punched in the head. Which is a distinct possibility.

For no reason other than pure laziness, here's a sideways picture that I forgot to rotate, and am too lazy to bother with doing now. Also, since I'm way too easily distracted, I only made three and then called it a day, but not before Dr Frasier made a "poodle", which I really regret not having a photo of. That abomination had to be destroyed... oops, I mean "sent to a farm". A genius he may be, but Dr Frasier is no balloon animal maker...

Thing 308 Geocaching

2011-03-03T18:13:00.000-08:00

If this isn't the world's greatest hobby... Seriously, who knew how much fun a sat-nav could be? Obviously a sat-nav with a really hilarious voice is a different kettle of fish, there's no end to the fun there, but a regular sat-nav has nothing on Geocaching. It's a basic idea. Someone hides a "cache" and lists it's geographic coordinates online. Someone else, in this case, me and Lady Awesome Mermaid Elegance along with Token Northy and Top Cat, track those coordinates on a sat-nav or fancy phone and we go hunting treasure.

That's bascially what this is, a fancy technologically advanced treasure-hunt. In this case, the first cache was on Clare Street in Limerick. The geo coordinates will get you to within twenty feet or so, and after that you've to rely on the hint given to get you over the line. I was never so excited. Just feet away from a present for me, that's been hidden in plain sight of the public, for me to find. Then I get to leave a present that someone else is going to find. I think I, very embarrassingly, may have jumped up and down on the spot a few times. Sometimes I think I should bring my parents with me when I go outside. You know, just to keep an eye on me.

Jeez. I just realise how sad I sound. But it really is lots of fun. I mean, how many times a day do you go treasure hunting? How many times in your adult life? If it's not extreme enough for you, never fear, there's geocaches on hill-walks, in the burren, on mountainsides. There are caches that you need to bring a shovel and dig up. And it's not just here, you could geocache anywhere in the world. It's literally everywhere. Why am I only finding out about this now? Why did you keep this from me? Eh? WHY?

There's a Snoopy dog that's travelled 35,000 miles since 2005. I'm not kidding. It's called a "trackable" cache. Someone leaves the cache at a point and tells the people looking for it to move it elsewhere, and take some photos and junk. Then log the new position of the cache online. Snoopy is at Shannon Airport at the time of me blogging, having left Sidney in Australia in 2005 and having seen about seven countries in between since... Next time you're heading for foreign parts, or even just to Scotland, you could be bringing a cache another step on the way, only for some other helpful and like minded person to take him on another leg.

Tell me that's not cool?
The best part is that there are caches everywhere. Don't believe me? Why would you, I'm a famous liar don't you know. Here, have a look: CLICK! That click is just for Irish hunters. If you're not Irish, you're out of luck, because I'm a bit racist and don't care what you think... Kidding. I'm kidding. Jeez. It's just because most of my readers are Irish. For all the Minesotans (have I said that right? I'm not sure...) CLICK. If you're not Irish or from Minnesota, I suggest Google. I don't have all day...
Look how excited Token Northy is... That's us with our Geocache. Give yourself an afternoon to wander about where ever it is that you live. Somewhere near by there's a little cache waiting for you. The only condition is that you leave something for someone else to find, and obviously sign the logbook. The person who left it there is probably getting a massive kick from knowing that you're having as much banter finding his stuff as he did finding someone else's.

Wow. I am a child aren't I? Treasure hunting at twenty six years old. I wouldn't deny it for a second though. Some laugh. I promise.

Thing 307 Skype

2011-03-03T14:36:00.000-08:00

First and foremost; bare with me. I know I'm not up to date. I'm trying to get there, I swear, but I'm forever distracted by things that are shiny and the bothersome little details like going to work. I'll eventually catch up with this Project, I swear....

I'm a bad friend. I've got close, personal, long term and serious friends all over the world. I miss them quite a bit. Every so often I drop them a text. If they're on the facebook chat I'll say hello, but that's about the size of it. Like I say, a bad friend. It gets worse. I've got friends currently sharing this island who I barely talk to. It's not deliberate, I just always seem to be busy. There's really no excuse, but I'll try to make one up anyway, I'm great for dodging blame like that.

It was recently suggested that if I was a better friend I'd skype my mates worldwide. Bah humbug I said, because in my head I'm at least seventy, and it's still the early twentieth century. Not only do I not know how to skype, but I fear change and all it brings. On top of that, my last venture into video technology online was chat-roulette, and that had more penises than people, so you'll understand if I'm skeptical.

Still, it's about time I got on board this train. If for no other reason than to speak to the Curly Fairy or the Tiny One all the way over in Australia and China respectively. It's been too long since I spoke with either. See point one above; bad friend.

So I'm hopping on the bandwagon. I'm getting hip and with it, and I'm joining the revolution that is Skype. The Thief has spoken about how awesome it is, and as I understand it, there are peopel who hold entire romantic relationships over the interwebs. So this is me getting on board.

Who's the first person I call? Not the friends in Madrid teaching English, nor the friends in Perth working with kids. Not the family I have in New York who've been urging me to visit. No, no. I rang Bunratty. Because that's where Dr Frasier lives.

I could have driven out to his house and had tea and a chat, but instead I skype called him, and then, to make matters worse... I skyped Pony Boy. At the other side of the house. To tell him to turn on a DVD. I'm afraid a monster has been created, and it's me.

I'll never leave my room again. Why would I bother? Everyone I need to reach is right here on my laptop. There's a serious risk that when The Project ends I'll become a hermit, living in my room and conducting all my business through facebook and skype.

Still, I'm down with the cool kids now. First two skype calls made. May they be the first of many...

By the way, this is a not so subtle hint to all my mates abroad to get in touch... I'd like a chat.

Thing 306 Singing Contest

2011-03-02T18:16:00.000-08:00

Alright, just after I've recorded a song, I'm in a singing contest. Let me be clear. I'm not a talented singer. I'm a mediocre singer. I don't have stunning range and projection. I will not win awards or sell records with my singing voice. No one is ever going to pay to listen to me. Doesn't stop me from loving it. I really do love to sing. Personally, I think I do my best work in the shower, but I've been known to belt out a few half decent tunes while cooking and cleaning also. I don't think Pony Boy will ever forget the Aretha Franklin number that I was covering while cleaning in the nip about a third of the way through The Project... mind you, that'll probably be because of the amount of bare arse that came with the song. To be fair.

The K-Factor has been running in the Shannon Knights bar in Shannon Town for a number of weeks now. This was the third heat. I've never been a major fan of X-Factor or similar ventures, mostly because I dislike reality TV. This time though, I wanted to see what it would be like, not just to be on stage, I've been on stage for plays and musicals since I was about twelve, but because of the feeling of being judged. Because that's what this is. It's putting yourself out there to be judged, not just by the panel of judges, but by the complete strangers who are there to support someone else, or just for fun.
I'm positively amazed at how nervous I was. Like I say, I've been on stage countless times. Expressive Arts Theatre School from age twelve to eighteen. Mary Immaculate Drama Soc from eighteen to twenty two. Being on stage and singing isn't new to me, but the knowledge that I'm getting up there to be judged... holy shit did it scare me.

By the way, because I like name-dropping and pretending I'm cool; that nice chap in the photo up there is Gari Deegan. You may recognise him from The Late Late Show - he was contesting to be in the Eurovision. He's also the organiser of the K-Factor, and sort of a mate too.

It's funny when I think about it. The atmosphere at The Knights was great, the buzz was excellent, and people were clearly having fun. There was actually nothing to be nervous about, but there I was sweating bullets. Thanks be to The Frenchman it wasn't worse. He came with, to play guitar, since I'm still crap at that, so I could sing. Made me sound good too.
We started with Fidelity, the Regina Spektor song that I tried not to butcher there a week or so ago. If you want to listen again, here's the link: CLICK!! The only problem was that we hadn't really rehearsed it that day. In fact, we hadn't really done anything that day except watch sci-fi movies and drink coffee. It's not exactly preparation for a singing contest. I do paint a thoroughly lazy picture of myself though don't I? Jabba's got nothing on me folks.

So we were massively unprepared. And we really murdered it this time. I mean, wow, it was awful. If I'd been in the audience I'd have been throwing fruit. Judges were nice about it though. I think they were thinking "Awww god-helpus... the poor lad". To add insult to injury, we were supposed to sing two songs. We hadn't prepared a second one, so we just got up and did Jason Mraz, I'm Yours.... and we fairly rocked the house.

I was stunned. People joined in the singing, and not just in an effort to drown me out. It actually went well. The other contestants had been pretty class, and one of them Orla, was so good, it was pretty much sewn up that she'd be winning. She nailed it. So the competition was for second place, since two people would be going back for the semi-finals. We got called back to a sing-off. At this point I was completely gobsmacked. I think Dr Frasier, our one fan, was amazed too.

We lost... inevitable really. The chap in the photo is the guy that took second place. He rocked the house a little bit too. And he's sound out. So no complaints. Head on home and watch more sci-fi movies. It was a fun night out. Bit of an experience. Really enjoyed the second and third song. Thing 306 in the bag...

But wait... there's more.

The Judges get a "Wild Card" pick. Guess who? Ya, apparently I didn't ruin music enough to be discounted and me and The Frenchman are into the semi-final on Sunday March 13th. We'll be preparing this time. Actually doing some rehearsels. Getting The Canuck on board too. So this time round, when it all goes down I actually won't have an excuse. Which is alarming. I like blaming my failures on other things outside my control.

If you feel like turning up to support us, we'd only love to see you. Bring ear plugs. No fruit.

Thing 305 The Bloody Mary

2011-03-02T17:43:00.000-08:00

Seen Anchorman? I'm going to assume you have, and if not, well I don't want to be directly addressing anyone who hasn't seen that masterpiece of movie-making one way or another. After the brawl scene Ron looks at the others and says "that escalated fast". It's a line I use more often than I should. Not in reference to fights, which I try to avoid these days, but in reference to slagging matches, or nights out that start with a quiet pint in Tom Collins's and end up with me falling asleep on the couch watching Madagascar at six in the morning, cold kebab still untouched on the coffee table... yep. I'm a classy bird.

This was just such a night. The Sluggery, you see, is populated with couples. Token Northy and Lady Northy. The Frenchman and Tiny Fairy. Pony Boy and Little Flower, and of course, I've got The Thief (for my sins, or for hers, we haven't decided who's come out better yet). Couple life means less nights on the lash for some reason. More nights in with wine and a movie. Dr Frasier shook me and The Frenchman out of our reverie. So we hit the town on the run... the result:

I'm a fantastic moaner. I moan and complain better than most people I know. Most people anyone knows really. I'm at my moany and complainy best when suffering the after-effects of too many pints of Guinness. A Saturday on the couch, trying to watch the rugby while considering the possibility that this might just be the one that gets me. Total sympathy from The Thief: Zero. Total sympathy from The Canuck: Infinity. He's good like that.

All too often he's in a similar state of bitter resentment and regret. So I was going to go to the shop and get the ingredients to make home-made ice cream. Comfort food as a Thing for the day seemed like a wonderous idea at that point. But there was no way I was going as far as Tesco without raising a moan like a bad mummy impersonator in a b-grade horror movie. That's when The Canuck asks if I'd ever had a "Bloody Mary" before. I had not.
Here's why it's a good Project Thing: The Bloody Mary is iconic. It's referenced frequently and hilariously in many parts of pop-culture, not the least of which is Family Guy. Most people know what it is, or have at least heard of it, but I doubt highly that all the people who've heard of it have ever experienced it.

It's legend is such that it's believed to be an instant hangover cure. I was skeptical on the grounds that if it worked that well then it would be owned by Microsoft, Apple or Big Tobacco and we'd pay an arm and a leg for it every Sunday morning when we went shopping for Sunday papers.

The Canuck though (pictured above, looking menacing) assured me of its virtues. It's made with vodka and tomato juice among other things. Can you actually think of two things that you'd like less when you're suffering from drink than those two? Maybe you can, try; pepper and celery. Yep they're in there too. Pepper and celery for crying out loud.
It smells so strong that I gagged. My tummy was feeling tender anyway like. The Thief wouldn't even look at me when I was drinking it. She'd turn away every time I went to take a sip. Meanwhile, everyone urged me to do it as a Thing, and applauded and cheered me on when I went to get the ingredients. Would they chance a glass themselves? Not a hope. Mind you, I don't blame them. The Canuck was looking particularly evil that night.

He was wrong on two counts that night: It didn't make me better and it wasn't tasty. It was rancid and made me wretch, and I think he might have been trying to poison me. I can't prove it... but I have my suspicions. We're putting that one into the "Never Again" category.

That Never Again box is filling up fast eh?

Thing 304 Meet Senator Norris

2011-03-02T17:16:00.000-08:00

Sure he's a Senator now, but I'm thinking this guy is likely to be President at some point real soon. When that happens I'll be pretending that this photo was taken after he got the job. Then I'll frame it and leave it lying casually about the house for when guests call over. Then when they see it I'll be all like "oh yeah, me and the President are great buddies..." I'm a liar like that.

If you've been reading this since the very start (fair play, how'd you manage to stick it?), then you'll already know that this guy is a hero of mine. I wrote him a fan mail as Thing 5 or 6. He wrote back too. It's not just his pleasant demeanour and glorious beard, though they are big plusses in his favour, it's also what he's done.

This guy took on the institution, and beat it, back when it was massively unpopular to do so. He set up the Foreign Affairs committee all on his own. He's a Senator, and a seriously smart operator. Then there's something else about him too, something I can't quite put my finger on. What ever it is, call it charisma for now, but it makes him admirable as well as likable.

He was down here in Limmers for a trip to the Brothers of Charity in Bawnmore, and to meet with people who seem to think that he'll make a good President. There's quite a gang of us actually. So we got to meet up with him, and then grill him.

And I mean grill him. He was asking people to take their best shot at him in terms of assessing him and the way he is. No questions out of bounds, and no topic off limits. And all this while we had a cup of tea. Man can that guy talk...

As Dr Frasier put it: "He'd talk for Ireland..." Can't you just see that on a campaign poster?

We just sat there in the hotel lobby, in a big gang, asking questions and talking politics. I felt kind of fancy actually. All we were missing were some brandy glasses and a handful of pipes... slippers and quilted dressing gowns are optional. This isn't normally like me. I'm about as fancy as the newspaper they use to wrap fish and chips, so in that regard it really was an unusual experience.

That's not to say I don't like talking about politics, I just prefer to do it from a barstool, where I'm perpetually correct. Then again, so is everyone else at the bar...

Anyway, they say you shouldn't meet your heroes, and I'm normally inclined to agree. We've a bad habit of putting people up on pedestals that's unhealthy, for us and them, because ultimately people are just people, and from time to time, they'll let you down badly. Thankfully this man didn't. He's pretty much the same in real life as you've heard on the radio or seen on the TV. Chatty and a bit of fun, with a sharp edge to him that you'd miss if you weren't looking...

Oh blast... I'm gushing again. Sorry. Has to be said though: nice day out.

Thing 303 Eat Hummus

2011-03-01T11:29:00.001-08:00

Welcome to another installment of "crap that I've never eaten, and will make a Project Thing out of". On today's disgusting menu: Hummus. Also known as goo or as my nephew called it "mucky stuff". Good man Spike, you've got it in one there kiddo.

The lads in work went into a mad cycle of eating hummus every day there a few years ago. On some kind of health kick, they were bringing lunch boxes of the stuff in, with crackers that tasted like air. Then they'd throw me a dirty look or two as I shovelled down the mouthfuls of gravy covered chips. I think we've already established, but I'm a bit of a fatty. At very least I'm ignorant of correct dietary requirements.

In my favour though, how many people can say to themselves honestly that in the middle of the day, all they're craving are some mashed chickpeas and garlic. That's what we're talking about here folks. Mashed bits of stuff that you're only vaguely aware of, with garlic. No sir. Not for me.
Look at that photo up there and tell me that you're keen on that as a form of lunch? No? Didn't feckin' think so. Having said all that I'm ridiculously close minded when it comes to food. I hate things of which I'm unsure. It's a catch 22. I don't want to eat it 'till I know it's delicious, but I'll never know if it's tasty until I've eaten it. There's an application here right across the board of my diet. Potato salad? No interest. Might be delicious, but I'll never know, because I've taken a set against it. That god-awful mush of mayo and carrots that most people have the bad grace to call coleslaw. What a dreadful load of pure awfulness.

So as you can see, I'm kind of set in my way about grub. I don't want to try the new pizza, because I like the old one we always order just fine.

Then hummus arrived.

I'd be lying if I said it wasn't nice. Because it was. I'd be equally lying if I told you that I'm going to spend money on mashed chickpeas ever again. This is one of the rare one time only hit things that I didn't hate or love. It was fine, but I'm not going to make a habit out of hummus. Mind you, the legacy of several years ago at work is such that Token Northy and Lady Northy kind of love this junk. Something tells me there's likely to be more of it around than I want there to be.

I'll just have to make do. The air flavoured crackers that they come with could use some flavour though. Thing 303 tastes fine, but it's not for everyone...

Thing 302 Record a Song

2011-02-28T14:55:00.001-08:00

First and foremost, let's do the thanks-to bit. Half Traffic is a pure and complete ledge-bag wrapped up in a hero. He's also a thoroughly nice bloke. While I'm selling him; he's single ladies, so get in there now, while you still can. Got road frontage. Swear to God. So thanks to him.

Mind you, calling 'round to his place is a little strange. He's got recording equipment and instruments coming out the wazoo, to borrow and Americanism that I can't pull off. At last count the man plays nine (I'm going on memory here, and mine's not razor sharp to start with. If that needs revising, it'll be upward, not down) instruments. He's got drum kits, ten hundred million guitars, saxophones, banjos, the lot. And he's a top notch producer.

There he is there below this line. Top bloke.
When I say he's a producer, I'm not talking about his profession. No, not for Half Traffic. Music production and recording is what he does on the side. Limerick heads will know him from the band Traffic, which he is one half of. Hence the very lazy blog name. And yes, that's a didgeridoo and a djemba drum in the background. He plays those too.

Mind you, the most talented producers in the world can only do so much... so there's no point in pretending that this was ever going to be a smash hit sensation. I can kind of sing. My voice is not going to sell records. Thorny Wire on the other hand, despite what you might think of his sometimes cranky countenance, has the voice of an angel. A dirty, Guinness drinking, cursing, pint-pulling angel. But an angel nonetheless. I'm allowed to say such things, he's my little brother.

There's a serious love of singing in the family. Comes from my Nana, I think. She was a singer in my gran-uncle's band way, way back. Smashing singer too. Thorny Wire got all the good genes. I got the sarcastic writing gene. What a dud. So we love our singing, even those of us that wouldn't be the greatest.

Thank God I've no shame, otherwise there's no way I'd be sticking this up here... Mind you, thanks to Half Traffic's production, it sounds better than it would have. Look at him there, producing the hell out of that song...
In order to be able to make it so you guys can hear it, I've had to splice it into (yet another) picture montage thing. It's me singing, with a bunch of Project photos for fun. Try not to get nostalgic kids. I don't want anyone crying onto their laptops...

CLICK HERE FOR EAR BLEEDING

I picked Regina Spektor because I straight up love that song. I mean I really love it. Mind you, she can sing the song. I'm just trying not to murder it. It was fine though. As Top Cat says, be proud of it... (even if it is murder...)

Thing 301 Make a Video Montage

2011-02-28T10:04:00.000-08:00

There's way too many days when I'm harping back over college days. You'd swear i was some kind of old timer the way I go on. "Back in my day...". I'm a man of many bad habits, so I'm not about to stop this one: Back in my days in college, Dr Frasier and Badger used to be wizards with the movie making on the laptop. Dr Frasier made a video montage of old photos of our college days and set it to the old time tune "We'll Meet Again". Nearly reduced me to tears about a month after we'd finished college. Good times.

I was always slightly envious of his ability to make these things. Badger was just as good, but funnier. He made a video for Little Squirrel that had us all in tears laughing. Poor Little Squirrel had to take a lot of abuse. Mind you, he dished it out goodo too. So I got busy for Thing 301 and made a downloaded the movie maker and got to work.

First problem is that I'm a lemon. A human version of a fruit. Technology wouldn't be my strongest suit in the world, and when I'm excited about something I tend to make a balls of it. So it took me way longer than it should have. Mostly because I accidentally deleted the videos. Twice.

Thankfully I've a wealth of old photos to choose from. The Project has been well photographed over the last eleven months. So here is my tribute to Token Northy, and the many ridiculous facial expressions he has. I've dedicated it, most lovingly, to himself and Lady Northy, because they're engaged, and the wedding is going to be awesome. Plus I figure that the nicer I am, the more likely I am to get an invite. Pony Boy and The Frenchman can stay at home... losers!

LINK. Click for Northy Facial Expressions

But wait... there's more...

Pony Boy puts Token Northy in the ha'penny place with his expressive face, and I felt that I absolutely should. So I did. Here's yet another masterpiece of video making. Starring Pony Boy...

LINK. CLICK ME NOW.

But that's not the best one... the best one is still to come. First; some background.

We're obsessed with our fishtank. It sits in the kitchen and would put Coronation Street to shame for the intricate storylines and plots we get from it. There are some outstanding individual performers in that tank. Firstly there's Catfish. His very unoriginal name comes from the fact that he's a catfish. Interesting note about them is that they grow BIG. It won't be long before he's the biggest in there. And nobody f***s with him. He lives under a rock, and doesn't like being bothered. So none of the other fish go anywhere near him. Then there's New Shark. He's the second of two small shark-looking fish. A late arrival to the tank, he quickly stamped his authority on all around him. By eating them. What a charmer. Then there's Rope Fish. He's a long eel looking yoke, and a menace to the tank. He's the only one who messes with Catfish.

In the early days of TankTown we introduced ten Neons to the others. We called them The Disco Brothers. On the second day in the tank, we noticed there were only nine of them, and Rope Fish was looking fat. The third day, there was just eight, and Catfish was burping out tiny little bones. The next day, just seven and New Shark had unbuckled his belt a little. You get where this is going. All ten of them were eaten.

Never ones to learn our lesson, we bought ten new ones and popped them in. Same story. One by one, they were picked off... until. The last Disco Brother. He's been in there for months now. All on his own. Surviving. He's like the Highlander of Neons. We call him Disco Ninja, and he's either saved his life by becoming someone's bitch, or he's the most badass Neon in the world. I'm choosing to believe it's the second one.

And so...

Without (much) further ado...

The Sluggery Boys present...

Disco Ninja:

Click Here for Disco Kombat

P.S. I told you we're obsessed with that tank.

Thing 300 Toll House Trek

2011-02-24T14:50:00.001-08:00

After a long and irritating day at work and the sixty kilometre or so round trip commute that comes with it, there's nothing I hate more than the slow and painful realisation that I've still got a Project Thing to do. On days such as these, I comfort myself with the knowledge that there's millions of tiny little things that I've never done, and they can be achieved quickly and easily without hassle, so I can spend a night watching cartoons, movies or staring at the fish-tank in the kitchen; happy as a pig in... well, you know.

On the ever dwindling list of easily achievable Things that are within striking distance of my house, better known as The Sluggery, was the enchanting and delectable treat of a Toll House Cookie. Famous from an episode of Friends I once saw, and plastered all over McDonald's advertising boards for the last month or so, I promised myself a nice little treat: Easy Thing for Project; sweet thing for my chubby tummy.

There's a McDonald's just five minutes of a drive from my gaff. Sweet. I can stop off on my way home. The problem with that Micky D's is that it's popular. Very popular. So loads of people go there. The problem with advertising is that it works. It works very well. This combination is not good for me, because it results in a lack of Toll House cookies...

Not to fear, there's another pair of Golden Arches in Limerick City centre. Smack on Cruise's Street. It might be the McDonald's with the greatest drunks to staff ratio in the entire world, but it's not that late in the day, and sure isn't town only a hop skip and a jump from The Crescent. Remember what the problem with advertising is? Well apparently it's no different for drunks than it is for the sober demographic. No Toll House cookies for me in town.

I'm a little miffed, but hey, there's a McDonald's in the Jetland, on the Ennis Road, and that's a short haul from town. It's a bit out of the way for getting back to The Sluggery, but the fish-tank isn't going anywhere, regardless of the schemes and machinations of the Catfish (that's not a blog name, we've got our very own evil scheming catfish in the tank). Guess where else didn't have Toll House cookies?

Now I'm a horrendously stubborn man. And at this point, it's no longer about the Project. It's not about the fish-tank. It's not even about the cookie. It's about me getting what I want. I want it, and I want it now. So I'm having it. Next stop: Shannon Town. That's right. The place where I work. The place I drove to that morning, then drove home from just over an hour and a bit ago. Shannon Town. I put on the angry music in the iphone. Gangster rap and Metallica and what have you.

Guess what McDonald's did have my Toll House cookie? Oh yeah. Get in there Shannon town. I sat there in the "restaurant" munching happily on my first ever Toll House Cookie, and sipped on a latte ('cos I'm fancy me) and turned on the not angry music. Rockabilly and a bit of Jack Johnson. Then I realised I was in Shannon...

Stupid Project...

Thing 299 Photoshop

2011-02-23T18:52:00.001-08:00

Editing the shit out of pictures is the kind of thing that people just do all the time. Some award winning photographers turned out to be frauds when it transpired that they'd taken the technology that smart people made for them and turned it to their nasty little means, resulting in fakes. Meanwhile some clever, funny and bored Canadian students visiting their mate in Mary I in Limerick a few years ago, showed me how to photoshop the crap out of pictures for funsies. Thank you Canuck.

Thing is, that I never actually bothered to do it myself. There are a few reasons for this. First: It takes a meticulous amount of careful administration. Attention to detail. I get distracted when someone dangles car keys in front of me. Two: When you've got someone good at doing this stuff, let them do it, don't be trying to get this crap done when you're clearly a lazy bum. I'm not talking to you, by the way, I think you're lovely, I'm talking to me. Which makes me a weirdo. I know. You already knew this too, surely. Three: It takes patience. I don't have any. And I mean none. I want it now, or ten minutes ago. So I let The Canuck take care of all the photoshopping. now it's my turn.

What to edit? Edit myself into a WWE ring, clobbering the living bejaysus out of Razor Ramone like I promised myself I'd do when I was ten? How about a photoshop of me along side Steve Jobs, being best buddies ever? No. I opted to photoshop out a pic of the only celebrity in Tinseltown who's close to me heightwise. Smaller than me, by the way, before you start mocking.

The patience required is actually a little daunting, since it takes a serious amount of time to individually pick out my giant fat head from a photo and place it on to an even gianter, fatter head of Tom Cruise. To be fair, I do look better with Katie than he does. I look smugger too, if that's possible.

If you want to know what I think the secret to good photoshopping is; it's layers. Everything is in layers. You can take a whole bunch of photos and, with the aforementioned patience and meticulousness, pick individual parts, people or objects, and lift them directly into other layers. There's a lot of chopping. You can see I've gone slightly wrong with this one. The head's too large, and the colour's slightly off, but that's because I don't have The Canuck's sense of dedication and I got bored and pretty much gave up...

Best I could come up with before Cracked.com stole my attention... speaking of which... I'm off again...

Thing 298 Cinema Date Marathon

2011-02-23T17:56:00.001-08:00

Jeez... doesn't she look lonely in there. Apparently I'm mad for my movies these days. I know I'm always mad for a good film, but after thirteen hours of Star Wars you'd think that I'd have enough of seeing films and want to get out a bit. Not so, not so. Instead of that I went on the marathon of cinema dates with The Thief. We got to the Omniplex about one in the afternoon, we left at just after one in the morning the next day...

There's a perverted kind of logic to it. Like I say, I've always been a movie buff, I've over two hundred and fifty DVDs, and that's a collection that grows weekly. I'm at the movies most weeks at least once to see what's on, and then give out about it, or rave about it endlessly, there's no half way with me really. I've always wanted to spend the day there. Just wander from movie to movie, with nought else to do with my time. Thanks be to Project, I get a reasonable excuse to do so.

If there's one thing the Project has done for me, it's erase any vestiges of dignity, shame or embarrassment that I once had. Not so for The Thief who spent half the time in between movies cringing at the the fact that the staff there seemed to be watching us and wondering if we had any lives of our own, or just kept getting confused when we were trying to find the exit. Poor girl was mortified.

First up: Tangled (3D). Awesome flick. Hilarious. You should see The Thief doing her impression of the Chameleon in it. Hilarious isn't even the word, it'd have you doubled over. Only if you've seen the movie though. I love cartoons. I sometimes wonder if I'll ever grow up. Funny thing about this movie was that it was being screened just after one o'clock on a Saturday. I figured place would be dead. Not a hope. Jammers. Packed to the rafters with kids. They were everywhere. Not exactly romantic. The movie was so good that they were rapt though. Not a peep out of them.

After the show we'd to head back and buy tickets for the next movie... Ladies and gents, number two: Black Swan.

Wow... now there's a disturbing movie. The lads had seen it already. So they spent ages telling me about a lesbian scene with Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis. By the time it come s around, I was way too disturbed to find it anything but upsetting, and it's only five in the evening. Plus we've been back to see the same guy at the ticket desk too times in a row. He was giving us a funny look.

After it was done, it was my call for a show again. Now the dude at the counter is looking at us like we're seriously weird. He'd be right in my case, but The Thief is relatively sane as people go. It was Paul Giamatti movie. The man is a leg-end. So movie number three: Barney's Version.

It's not exactly a pace-setter as shows go. It's very good to watch, without being a classic. I think it'll get a good following on DVD though, because it's the kind of movie that'll translate well on to the small screen. At this point, we've been eating nothing but popcorn, peanut M&Ms (which I normally love, but there's only so much), and Starburst, while drinking only Coke. We're really not very healthy people... honestly. This is also the movie screen in which the photo up there was taken. I'll give you a mo to scroll back up...

Yep, that's The Thief entirely on her own in a cinema screen small enough to fit into my living room. Alright, minor exaggeration, but you get my meaning. Apparently the people in the Omniplex don't think much of Paul Giamatti movies and figured that there'd be only two people there. By the time it started there were actually six of us. Still small enough for us all to say hello and introduce ourselves. That's a new experience all on it's own. Introducing myself to everyone else in the cinema...

By the time it's done it's gone dark outside. And we've switched from cartoons to slightly dark movies about guys who drink.... alot! Time for a new show. Number four: How Do You Know.

Now I'm seriously hanging for some food that's not complete junk. Do nachos and cheese count? The nachos and cheese were the best thing about How Do You Know. A movie with Jack Nicholson, Paul Rudd, Reese Witherspoon and Owen Wilson is supposed to be amazing. They're all pretty class. Instead it was AWFUL. I'm sure someone is going to argue with me about that, but it's true. A bad movie... Watch it, and regret that decision.

So now it's after eleven at night, and I've not had a morsel of reasonable food all day, just junk. Never thought I'd pine so much for a piece of lettuce, but there you have it. To add to this, The Thief is still cringing as the staff watch us move around for a fifth movie, and the guy at the till is looking at me like I'm taking the piss out of him. I'm trying not to look like I care, but there's a tiny part of me that wants to explain it's a Project Thing. I don't though.

Number five: A Little Bit of Heaven. It's not my choice. Obviously. Just go Google the title there. Not that I'm not partial to the odd chick-flick. Just that this one was never going to be a light-hearted romp. Something about it warned me to be wary...

It was brilliant. Cast was fantastic. Kathy Bates is brillo in everything. Kate Hudson's pretty cool too, to be fair. Smashing movie, if a little bit of a tear jerker. I didn't cry though. Even if The Thief tells you that I did, it's a lie. I definitely did not shed a couple of tears at the end. No way. You can't prove a thing...

Total money spent: I don't know, but it was something over a hundred and twenty quid... The movies are expensive. They're also great, but in not so hefty doses. It's kind of taken the novelty out of it for me for a while... Still though... great date... :)

Thing 297 Star Wars Marathon

2011-02-21T18:12:00.000-08:00

It's a wonder that I have a girlfriend. It's a wonder that I'm ever even taken seriously. Scratch that second one, no one takes me seriously. The reason that I scratch my head over such things is that I'm a giant nerd. I own DVDs of series' of Star Trek. I can recite passages of Monty Python movies. I laugh at xkcd. I reference xkcd in sentences. I own all six Star Wars movies.

On top of this, and it only makes matter worse, I'm relatively pleased about it. It gets me laughed at by some of my work colleagues, and I know it exasperates The Thief from time to time, but I enjoy being a nerd. It's not for everyone, and I don't expect you all to immediately get on board with all things Jedi, but it's right up my street.

Another list item that's been there since the first day. I've wanted to do it about fifteen times, but I always put it off, because I wanted the day to be just right. Conditions had to be perfect. How sad is that? I wanted conditions to be perfect for when I sat down to watch thirteen or so hours of science fiction movies.
The first dilemma is what order to watch them in: Episodes IV, V and VI (that's four, five and six if you're not from ancient Rome) were made in the 1970's, with their prequels launched in the early 2000's in the form of episodes I, II, III. So far the movies have made over four point four billion. Amazing isn't it?

The dilemma comes from the fact that episodes one and two, which have stars like Liam Neeson, Ewan MacGregor, Natalie Portman and the dddddreadful Hayden Christensen are just awful, while the original three, which actually come after the later movies, were awesome. Particularly since they've been digitally remastered to get over the occasionally crappy CGI, which would have blown your mind wide open if you'd seen it in the '70's. It was revolutionary back then.

I opted for the plot-line option. Start with the early episodes, play through to the good ones. Started at three in the day, or thereabout, I was still a little shook from my night as a woman, which turned into a late one. So myself and Pony Boy, with some occasional visits from Little Flower and The Frenchman, settled down to watch the greatest movie saga of our time unfold.

The amount of popular TV references to Star Wars is shocking. Family Guy, The Simpson's, How I Met Your Mother, Friends as well as countless movies, constantly reference Star Wars. "May the Force be with you" is now a commonly overheard term. The Dark Side is well known, and the famous "I am your father" line is one of the most widely known dramatic moments of all time. Because you see, Star Wars has bridged way more lines than people think. Yes, nerds do enjoy it more than the rest of you, but that doesn't mean that many people who do not have nerdish tendencies don't enjoy the movies. I dare you to watch them...

Then you'll get this hilarious joke: Click for hilarity (which is only funny if you've seen the movies).

So without further ado, in the descending order of awesomeness, here's the six movies:

1: A New Hope 2: Return of the Jedi 3: Empire Strikes Back 4: Revenge of the Sith 5: Attack of the Clones 6: Phantom Menace

Anyone reading that list who's not watched the movies and doesn't care is currently shrugging their shoulders apathetically. Anyone who has seen them is getting ready to dispute me. I invite all forms of animated nerd discussion...

I finished watching, all alone, I might add, at just before five am. Yep. That's thirteen or so hours of science fiction. Talk about a pig in shit. I'd a big cheesey grin on all day. As I said, I like being a nerd, and those movies, are pretty much our bible. The only bad thing is that now that it's been done, I'm unlikely to ever watch all six in a row again.

Oddly enough, that makes me a little sad! In the emotional way, not the pathetic way, all though that could be argued too... I'm not going to though.

Thing 296 Dress as a Woman

2011-02-16T13:39:00.001-08:00

Yeah. That's me. Dan Mooney. I'm a twenty six year old MALE, who apparently can make a pretty passable woman. Pony Boy will never recover. I think he threw up in his mouth about fifteen times. The Frenchman looked ill, and while she helped, I think Little Flower was secretly disgusted with me too.

Initially I had help from Pony Boy and The Canuck, who helpfully looked up how to make male cleavage online, and then taped up my recently shaved chest to make it look like I'd boobs. It was upsetting on many levels. How many times in your life will you thank two of your best mates for duct taping fake boobs into your chest? Speaking of upsetting, here's a photo of me putting on a bra... I'm not what most people will call sexy...
After that, the cavalry arrived. There's no way a bunch of dudes are going to be able to womanify me to the standard required. I'm not talking about looking like a Drag Queen, mostly because I look like that when I put on a wig and have a few drinks, so there's nothing new about that. I was going for proper woman, or at least to see if I could convince friends and family that I'd pass as a woman. I like to think that based on that photo up there it's a case of mission accomplished. But for that kind of look, the cavalry really was required...
Enter Little Flower, Clo Bear, Talker, Tiny Fairy and Blond Boss. A note on Blond Boss - the woman can get so excited that she's like a six year old child, stuffed with skittles, coke and crack. She's an absolute legend though. And she painted my face goodo. I think it was needed. The more makeup the better, I'm hardly an oil painting as a man, trying to look convincing as a woman is going to require about two and a half inches of makeup.... at least.

Just look at that photo. Is it weird that I'm trying to look down my own top every time I see it?
When we were all done applying two and a half hours worth of makeup to my face, and stuffing me into a pair of shoes, it's time to hit the town. It was CiCi Doo's birthday, she's been my older sister since I was born. So the four siblings decided to go for a few bevvies. That's drinks for those who didn't get that. Poor Thorny Wire didn't know where to look, the man was never so uncomfortable in all his life. "I've feckin' three sisters all of a sudden", he said, with a scowl...

So there's his three sisters: Me, Bean Bag and CiCi Doo.
Yep. This is the weirdest, strangest, most unsettling night out ever. We hit five pubs, Blond Boss joined in, and I spent the night looking for friends and people I knew, popping over to them in the pubs, tapping them on the shoulder and seeing if they'd recognise me. Not a lot of them did. In retrospect, when you're a man, dressed as a convincing woman, the last thing you should be doing is drawing attention to yourself.

Mind you, the reactions were funny. The lesson learned: High heels are dreadfully uncomfortable. Sympathy for all women who wear them. I feel your pain sisters.

Thing 295 Shave my Legs

2011-02-16T11:53:00.001-08:00

Just look at those pins... Oh yeah. I grew them myself you know. So as hair removal goes, this Project has been busy. I shaved a mohawk in, shaved the hair dye out, had my personal bits waxed, my chest shaved, I've cut someone else's locks, and now... now I've even shaved my own legs.

Ever since the start of The Project, I've found myself watching an awful lot less television. Much as I want to veg out, all the time, there's just no opportunity most of the time. Occasionally I find myself missing parts of it. Specifically, the ads. Isn't that weird? I miss good ads. Good ads like those two fellas in the Fosters ad. Hilarious Australians in their little shack. Even a bad ad can have a strange hold on you - like Barry Scott (whoever he is) screaming at you about how much he loves Cillit Bang. Would we even remember the product if this chap wasn't screaming at us?

There's a point to this, and I'm getting there. Bear with me.

I've always found ads for ladies razors oddly alluring. They make leg shaving look like it's something you should look forward to. Like some kind of personal treat to yourself. The also make lady razors look fifty times more effective than man-razors. I have this mental image of shaving myself with a lady razor, and it being just like wiping my face with a silken towel, resulting in facial smoothness. Which would be awesome, as I hate shaving...
My legs are so damn hairy though, that I'd to use the hair clippers that's normally reserved for shaving my head, and trim those pins all the way down. But I stopped at the line where my boxers start, so now I've got this weird hairline right across my thighs. It's hilarious looking. Then of course I'd forgotten to get lady razors, so I'd to use disposables. And I'd to do it with one leg sticking into my shower, half falling over, and there was no cool music in the background. Those ads lied to me. There's nothing great about shaving your legs.

Advertisements lied to me... how could they? I've never been so betrayed...

I'm going to come up with some categories for the different Things, in lieu of actual categories, I'm going to call this a "Rubbernecker". It's where my housemates, or anyone near by really, stops what they're doing to watch. It happens more than you'd think. Free Hugs Thing got a crowd. So did Thomond Park Seats Thing. Now since I wasn't shaving my legs on O'Connell Street, it was down to Lady Northy, Token Northy, Pony Boy, The Frenchman, Little Flower and Tiny Fairy. I think Lady Northy was most disturbed by the whole thing...
Mind you, disturbing is only starting. There's so much worse to come. All too often one of the Things leads in to another. Thing 296 is going to make your eyes burn... Most especially the lads... You can't unsee what's about to come next...

Thing 294 Bury a Hatchet

2011-02-14T16:20:00.001-08:00

Here's the thing, this blog is personal, and it's a kind of personal journey, and you're all welcome along on the journey, but there's some stuff that's kind of too personal to be shared here. So I'm going to spend half of this blog speaking in vague generalities about a situation that I don't want you knowing too much about, and the other half will be about literally burying a hatchet.

I've a head like a mallet. I'm never wrong. Even when I'm wrong, I'm not wrong. My brother, the Thorny Wire is pretty much the same as me, which made for an interesting childhood. My poor mother aught to be sainted. Me and Thorny Wire have had some spectacular rows. No one literally buried a hatchet, or literally anything else.... just about.

You know how I love the extended metaphors though. This one wasn't even on the list of Things, but it seemed appropriate considering the week that was in it. Every so often, even when I'm not wrong, I'm vaguely aware that there's a chance that I'm wrong. It takes me a while for this thought to form. It starts with a germ of an idea, a vague hint that something is wrong or just slightly amiss. It takes a while for it to develop.
So speaking of my poor beleaguered ma, I'd to raid my parents' house to get a hatchet. Oddly enough, among the junk you can find lying around The Sluggery are footballs of many varieties, guitars aplenty, many different types of hammers, screwdrivers and pliers, four different couches and all of Pony Boy's many many hats... no hatchets. Surprisingly there's two of them in mam and dad's gaff. Neither of them are lumberjacks. It's a little alarming...

So when I've realised I'm wrong, or at least thought of it, there's a few stages to go through. First denial; I'm not wrong. Then righteous indignation; this is definitely not my fault, someone else is to blame. Then acceptance; right, I probably did something wrong here. This may be my issue. And then regret; I'm going to have to apologise... bury the hatchet so to speak.

You see where I'm going with this.

Now I was a little late getting the hatchet, and it was Grey's Anatomy night, so The Thief was occupied, but there wasn't a lot of light left, and what was also missing from The Sluggery? A shovel. So what did I need to do? Yes. I used my hands. Like a dog, if a dog had hands instead of paws. I wonder what the neighbours would have thought if they'd looked out their windows. A man out his back garden at half ten at night, hatchet in hand, digging up the back garden with his free lámh.

So I sent an email. It said lots of stuff. Mostly it said sorry. And I filled the hole with the hatchet in it. Buried. To be forgotten about. Thankfully.

Thing 293 TRM

2011-02-14T14:55:00.000-08:00

TRM is an acronym. My job is jammed full of acronyms. Since Token Northy and I work together, it means that on days when work is eventful, we come home and we start chatting, sounds like we're puking up letters of the alphabet. It pisses Pony Boy off something wicked. He doesn't like not being in the loop.

"F*** the two of you, with your SAFP, and TCCA. It's all WIGH and FYHY with you". He's a charmer is the man.

So TRM. It means Team Resource Management. It's one of those many acronyms associated with jobs which probably means something to someone, somewhere, presumably. It sounds like management speak doesn't it? Like "paradigm breaking" or "outside the box thinking". I was not looking forward to a day of TRM. Aside from anything else, I figured it would be a day of lectures, and speeches. I'm famous for my ability to fall asleep on command during speeches.

In fact, I've made something of a habit of sleeping instead of listening when it comes to any form of speech. Last week when The Canuck was explaining his All Day Chilli to me, I nodded off. Not exactly polite. I know....

TRM was a surprise though. It was such a pleasant surprise that I made it a Project Thing. It was my first time doing it after all. What those photos show there are one of the team building exercises. Build a tower using six pieces of newspaper, add duct tape, two pieces of string and a full tin of beans. Three teams to build their own towers, tallest one to support a tin of beans wins... Genius.

That's the kind of competition gets people going. We came second. Out of three. Glass half full or glass half empty that's not winning no matter how it's sliced. Still, better than dead last eh?

There were group discussions, often quite lively. Safety cases, which weren't boring. And for all the official professional nature of it, I still got to wear a "Grumpy" hoodie and not shave.

The whole point of the day is to get people to engage with each other. Discuss problems. See how different people can create difficult solutions from each other. As someone kept saying, in a kind of creepy way; there are many ways to skin a cat. What a lovely analogy.

That was sarcasm by the way. I like cats.

If cohesion's the name of the game for TRM, it succeeded, since everyone in the room seemed to do well to engage with one another. I didn't fall asleep once, and I think the whole thing was actually highly productive. It's not the kind of thing you'd want to be doing everyday, but it's definitely the kind of thing that most people in most jobs would benefit from. At least once anyway.

Thing 292 Time Capsule

2011-02-13T16:06:00.000-08:00

It's one of the things that apparently drives all people in the entire world. A deep seeded need to leave something behind for another time. Something of our time. A legacy of ourselves. Mine's buried in my Ma and Da's back garden. None of this children or artwork nonsense for me. No sir (or madam). For me a USA biscuit tin stuffed with crap that someone thirty years from now may or may not give a rat's ass about.

I included a bunch of stuff, a CD, a DVD, a bottle of wine, some money, a copy of the day's paper and a note... Here's the very note, and this is what I wrote...

Hello Future Person,

First and foremost, allow me to clear up any confusion for you. You're only in the future from my perspecitve, it's still the present to you, so don't panic. You're not the one travelling in time, that's what this letter is doing. I'm writing this on the last day of January in the year 2011. I'm hoping that this letter doesn't see day light until some time after the start of the year 2031. I'm also hoping it's not me who goes digging for it. My kids, or my nieces and nephew, or, god forbid, Token Northy's kids. If you're reading this tiny Nelli, welcome to the back garden of my parents house... now get off my property. I'm kidding. You're more than welcome.

The point of the items included here is to give you an idea of life back in my time. I've included the following: A bottle of wine. If you're old enough to appreciate it, and I hope you are, it's been aging for twenty years. Should be delicious. Don't sell it on ebay. If you're not old enough to appreciate it, give it to your parents, don't drink it behind the school with your Canadian friend. He'll only get you in trouble. Or you'll get him in touble. Either way, thirteen years later you may be stuck getting each other in trouble all the time.

I've also included a newspaper. It's a means of telling people what's going on in the world. It contains current affairs; politics, sport, opinion pieces, economic news, health news, personal information. It's being suggested in this year, that the newspaper in its printed form will be dead within the next ten years. I can't ever imagine that happening, but lots of smarter people than I are predicting this. That's why the first half of this paragraph explains the context of a newspaper. If I'm correct, and newspapers are not dead in the year 2031 then you've just suffered the most patronising three lines of text that I've ever written. Sorry about that. It's today's paper. Not normally a fan of the Sunday Independent, but there was no Times left, and toilet paper doesn't count as a broadsheet, even if you can use a broadsheet as toilet paper. If you'd like a brief summary of the news today:

Fianna Fail are screwed in the upcoming election, as their current government has completely fallen apart. In Egypt, thousands of people have literally had enough of their Government's shit, and they're doing something about it. Our economy here in Ireland is in tatters. And I mean shreds, but there's some hope we'll start recovering by the end of this year. Fingers crossed.

In the sport's section: Manchester United rule, and everyone else blows chunks. I'm paraphrasing of course, and I'm a little biased, but you'll have that I think.

I've also included a CD. That's compact disc. It's definitely going to be obselete excpet as a retro/vintage gift to give to an older cooler relative. This CD is Dire Straits, Brothers in Arms album. It's amazing. Money for Nothing is possibly one of the best rock songs ever.

I've included a receipt for some grocery shopping. I'm not sure if you'll have abolished wealth as Star Trek has suggested to me, but if not, here's how much things cost now (prices in euro and cent): 2litres of milk: 2.38. Butter: 1.25. Sliced pan: 1.25. Eggs:2.26. I hope the receipt hasn't faded too much.

Here are a few predictions I'd like to prognosticate for your amusement:

Newspapers will still exist. CDs will be obselete. Gaelic Games players will be fully professional and the games will have spread throughout Europe, their popularity growing yearly. The United States will no longer be a superpower. China will not be communist. The euro will be the world's strongest currency. The middle east crisis will never be solved.

Here's hoping I'm right about some things. Wrong about others. If we haven't broken the internets again, then look up theproject366things.blogspot.com and you'll see why I've done this. You'll also see some photos of me and my buddies.

See you in the future.

Sincerely,

Dan Mooney

Personally I think the note says it all... so there's no point in continuing this blog further...

But I love going on and on and on, so I'll continue: Here's hoping this one sees the light of day some time. I know that my message in a bottle has never been answered, and in all likelihood, never will. Think of the shock I'll get years and years down the line when some gets in touch to say they found it. I really hope that gaff still belongs to my folks...

Thing 291 Solve a Rubik Cube

2011-02-13T09:21:00.001-08:00

Ignore all the numbers, they're not important unless you want to play sudoku at the same time as solving the Rubik Cube. Which I don't. I've had considerable difficulties from time to time just getting my feet into the correct legs of my trousers, and now you want me to solve a Rubik Cube and a Sudoku Cube at the same time... bah. I'll stick with the Rubik part.

Them's the colouredy bits. Green, orange, purple, blue, red and pink. Each to match up correctly on every side so that all the correct colours are in sequence. Shouldn't be too hard right? There are plenty of teenagers who can do this shit in under two minutes. I haven't been a teenager for nearly nine years now. I can surely kick these kids asses...
Success. It only took two hours and fifteen minutes. I'm too lazy to go back through all the previous blogs to check, but I'm nearly sure I found a needle in a haystack quicker than that. A six metre by six metre haystack, and I found a needle quicker than I could solve this. Having said that, I'm totally chuffed with myself. Seriously, it's no easy feat. Ever tried it? It's not simple.

I may have seriously confused myself though. I did ask for some outside help. See if you can make head arse nor tail of this guy. Because Lord knows I couldn't.... Click me! So yeah, I was cheating I guess, not that it did me any good mind you. I was utterly clueless about what he was saying. Algorithmic this, formula that. Utterly pointless trying to use this guy. The worst thing is that he thinks he's making it easy to understand... my eye.

So I started just twisting. Over and over. I flicked a bit this way, then that way, and if you asked me to do it all over again, I really wouldn't know what to do. I was nearly completely lost. In fact, I'd stopped paying much attention and was watching TV with The Frenchman, Little Flower and Pony Boy. I was only paying mild attention to anything else.

The next thing I look down and i'm nearly there. I'm talking just two blocks or so away from completely perfect. That's when I started panicking. I don't mind making a balls of it completely when there's nothing there to really make a balls of, but when you're this close to the end...

Thankfully, I didn't completely destroy it. I took the long way around and I did look up some tips and tricks for helping, but that's only because I'm stupid, and require help.

You would too.

Thing 290 Shotgun a Can

2011-02-13T03:35:00.001-08:00

I know that the actual purpose of The Project was to break me out of a comfort zone, and that there are few things in this world that I'm more comfortable with than the idea of a bunch of cans, preferably hammered home in shocking time, but it's still a new Thing and it still counts...

Kind of surprising that it's new though. I'm pretty sure that'll come as a shock to the people I went to college with. We weren't exactly shrinking-violets when it came to parties, and we were relatively experimental when it came to different methods of alcohol delivery systems. For example, Newbie, Badger and Little Squirrel were all famous for drinking neat whiskey from a pot. Classy boys. I hope you're reading this.

So considering that's the kind of company I kept (and continue to keep) through college, I think it's pretty amazing that I never shotgunned a can before.
Now, the messers from college are scattered here, there and everywhere. For example; Badger lives in London, Little Squirrel just landed a smashing job lecturing in Irish over in the United States and nobody's seen or heard from Newbie since 2006. He's presumed armed and dangerous... We presume this because that's how he's always been.

So with those bums not around to show me how to shotgun the can... How am I going to learn how it's done? Enter: Pony Boy. The taller, funnier version of me. Of course he knows how, and even has a little key that's ideal for the job.

Alright, here comes the science bit...
Once the can has been pieced at the bottom, and quickly covered, the trick is to open the can at the top, then there's something about a vacuum, and physics comes into play somehow, something to do with Isaac Newton and voila; a whole bunch of beer rushes out the tiny hole and the can crumples. At this point it's all about swallowing or choking. I'm not a fan of the latter so I gave the former a shot.

Fifteen seconds from full to empty. I resisted the urge to crush what was left of the can with my head, frat-boy style. I've already done that for this Project.

Pony Boy kicked ass though. Less than ten from full to empty. Legend...

It's not my style though. Drinking like that was fun when I was in college. These days I'm more refined... but don't look into that too deeply. I'm not exactly squeaky clean in the department.

My old college gang would be ashamed of me...

Thing 289 Be Ordained

2011-02-09T11:46:00.000-08:00

I'm aware of the difference between fiction and reality, in case you're wondering, all I'm saying is that if this guy can become a Minister, then so can I. It's not just Joey from Friends you know. Barney from How I Met Your Mother gets himself ordained as well. And who says kids don't mimic what they see on television?

So you may call me Reverend Dan Mooney from now on. Or just Rev if we're friends. Many people have been mocking my ordination since I signed up, but I spare them no thought. If they'd paid the fifty dollars and spent fifteen minutes of their precious time signing up online then they wouldn't be slagging. Minister school was hard for me. Mostly it was hard because I maxed my credit card recently and had to borrow my mother's in order to get ordained... it was quite the spiritual journey.

Seriously; for the princely sum of fifty dollars and about fifteen minutes of your time, you too can be legally ordained to practice whatever faith you like in the United States. Here's the skinny: The first amendment of the US constitution and the same constitutions declaration that anyone can practice any religion of their choosing means that if you establish a church in the US, and it's registered, you have the right to ordain ministers in that church as you please.

On top of that, it's completely legal, and no one has the right to say that you're any less of a minister than a man who spends seven years at minister school and gets a first class honours degree in Ministering from the Head Ministerer. Which means I can now legally perform weddings, funerals, baptisms and house blessings in the United States.

All thanks to a registered Church called Universal Ministries, who have the power to appoint a Minister, and exercised the power to make me Reverend. Very Reverend actually.

I'd nearly travel to the United States just to be the man who ties the knot for someone. There has to be someone over there who wants a short, weird Irish guy to perform the biggest ceremony of their lives?

In a day of highs-and-lows, I was immediately disappointed to learn following my ordination, that facebook don't want people changing their titles to Rev. I don't know why they don't like this, but what's the point in me making a fifty dollar spiritual quest if I don't get to show off. Surely the main point in being a man of the cloth is that you get to show off right? Or am I missing the point?

If anyone asks me what church I represent, I'm going to tell them the Jedi Church, then I'm going to wave my hand in front of their faces and tell them that these are not the droids that they're looking for. I should probably start dressing like a Jedi too...

Look, we all know this isn't real, it's a fraud. While I am a spiritual person, and I have my faith, this Ministry is legal in the US but means nothing in the eyes of anyone with faith. Having said that, I'd love to go back to my old Primary and Secondary schools and tell some of my teachers that I became a Reverend. Heart attacks all 'round.

Now to start working on a sermon to issue to the lads of a Sunday, and see how long it takes Pony Boy to try punching me in the face.