Thing 32 Extreme Facedown

Oh yeah... It's extreme facedown... For anyone who doesn't know. Have a read/look at this. It's got all you need.

http://www.dingostew.com/phpBB3/extreme-facedown-ireland-t650.html

I picked O'Connell Street in Limerick. In the middle of the main intersection with William Street, on a busy Saturday afternoon. Which sounds stupid, but I promise I didn't really disturb traffic too much. Well, not significantly anyway...

I love these internet fads and phenomena. Apparently someone in Cork started this off (but don't hold that against them, they're not all unreservedly arrogant about their county), and it was picked up by school kids in the area. They started some Extreme Facedown of their own. And started snapping pictures, the next thing anyone knows, it's sweeping the country, like Foot and Mouth (remember that? Foot and mouth, lordie that takes me back).

It was even picked up by our paper of record... Here's the bit. The Irish Times are all over that shit!!

There's something slightly anti-establishment about the whole thing. It's completely ridiculous, and flies in the face of convention. It's startling, bothers passers-by and irritates some people, but it's the kind of creative lunacy that appeals to me. There's really nothing to it except lying down. And I fucking love lying down.

The thing is, if you tried to start an internet movement for widespread social change, or for the spread of new ideas for a new generation, you'd likely run into all manner of problems. But ask people to lie down where they're not supposed to lie down and you've got a phenomenon. Pony Boy loves it, and he's started picking his spot for his facedown. The Canuck, who took (it rhymes - hilarious) today's photo has also started thinking of where he wants to do his. I urge all people who are as slightly cracked as we are to pick a facedown spot and do it...

Try not to get run over though.

P.S. Here's a photo of Dr Zombie with some newspaper ink on his forehead. It's not funny. It's not relevant. I'm posting it because I can...

Thing 31 Barber Shave

That's the before shot.

If you're going to have a bad day, you should try to strike some balance in. I know that for some people (mostly chicks I think), go for a spot of retail therapy to beat the blues. For men everywhere this should be top of the list to redress the balance. In a funny kind of way it's fitting. Today UpDoc had to take a slice out of my cheek. Damn moles you see. So it was only fitting that a blade should be involved.

The Straight Shave or Hot Towel Shave is something else to experience. Dudes can't just pop off to a beauty salon for some R&R, or get a manicure. It's just not manly. Not the done thing you understand. A straight shave though? If Clint Eastwood can get one in Gran Torino, then you know it's manly. And it's relaxing as hell. Plus, I'd to lose the beard so UpDoc could get at the offending cheek with his damn needles... Twice in one week. Damn phobias.

Straight razor blade to the face, after some warm oil was massaged in, and a hot towel was put on me to soften up the face. I highly recommend it.

Here's the during shot:

I'll miss the beard though. The problem with my mug is that when you put it on my short little body and shave it, I look like a fifteen year old. It's ridiculous. I'm betting anyone who wants to give away some money that I'll be stopped for ID when going for a few pints with Thorny Wire this weekend. So the beard was a proper way to mask that. Plus, I think the beard is coming back. Moustaches are forever tainted by bad porn, but beards have a rugged manly appeal. And like I say, they cover up the fact that I look like a minor without one.

Here's the after shot:

So for the time being I'm doomed to look like a child. It's a tough old life eh? Some people spend thousands on trying to look young, and here's me trying to dodge it. Still, for the money, and the experience I urge all dudes (and chicks with facial hair), to give it a shot...

Sometimes this Project throws up a nice little treat eh?

Thing 30 Take Out a Personal Ad

This is what a man-date looks like. Oh yeah... Spoon would tell you otherwise, obviously, but I know what I know. Not really by the way, i was going to pick this as the photo I'd upload to my dating site on Star.ie so I~ could take out my personal ad. Obviously I'd edit Spoon out. I can't compete with that...

Internet dating is a big thing now you know. So is speed dating. I didn't realise we'd even started doing the dating thing in this country. When did that all kick off? Like proper Sex and the City style dating. First interview stuff. It's always been my assumption that people only used online dating or personal ads to look for sex. I know that's a ridiculous stereotype, but I did actually think that. Apparently not - in this modern workaday world, asking someone on a date face to face is out of the question. So we have interweb dating... Welcome to the world of tomorrow.

There's a secret code for internet dating too. I read about it (where else but on the internet). Tall, blonde and athletic on a dating profile, shock and horror, may not actually be a Swedish gymnast. Also, if he/she tells you she's got a swimmers body and a voracious appetite for life, that doesn't mean she's a bathing beauty... It seems you really can't believe everything you read on the internet... who'd have guessed?

Time for a bit (and I stress a bit), of honesty...

Average weight, slightly short moderate drinker. Likes also include sports, How I Met Your Mother, movies and that feeling you get when you wake up and realise you don't ahve to get out of bed for another hour or two. Seeks Smoking hottie who enjoys rugby, giving massages and people who don't shut up.

Oh yeah... tell me that doesn't do it for the ladies? I can see them practically drooling on their keyboards, and shutting down their Internet Service Providers trying to get a date with yours truly.

The internet is no place for honesty... Seriously. I wont hold me breath.

Thing 29 Donate Blood

That's the before shot. Scroll down to the end and have a look at the haggard face after the blood's gone. Pasty, bags under the eyes. Shocker. You know that they take nearly one pint of your blood in a donation? And here's the cool bit: Your body replaces it entirely within 24 hours. Class! I didn't know my body was as productive as that, I mean, I'm totally bone idle lazy, there's no reason for my biology not to agree with my decision to be a fat mess...

Donating blood is something I've wanted to do for some time, but the kicker is that I'm permanently afraid of needles. I had to get a lumbar-puncture when I was a kid, and it's left me with deep psychological scars, or something like that. One way or another, I'm petrified. Bungee jump from 200ft? No problems. Parachute jump from 10,000ft? Not an issue. Look at a needle, even on the telly? Hell no. Not a chance. Change the damn channel. So while for many of you, this may be a straightforward thing, for me, this was an epic big deal.

Hat's off to all the lovely nurses and professionals who work with the IBTS (Irish Blood Transfusion Service). They were a thoroughly charming bunch. None of them made fun of me as I babbled practically incoherently with the nerves. They also have to ask you a lot of questions, some of them horrendously embarrassing. "Have you had sex with anyone who is paid for drugs or sex in the last year Mr Mooney"? Delivered with a completely straight face (no is the answer by the way, in case any of you are curious). What a terrible thing to have to ask anyone. What if a nun or a priest comes in to give blood? Do they still have to be asked? Or what if it was a family member? I wonder if any of those nice nurses ever had to ask their mothers' if they'd been having sex with a man who also performed oral or anal sex on another man? Seriously, that's actually a question. I feel for anyone who has to ask anyone those questions...

Extra credit for the top notch mammy-ing they do. They all took one look at my face when the needle was going in, realised I was scared stiff, and took it on themselves, and I mean every one of them, to come over and see was I okay. Fifteen minutes and almost one pint of blood later they made me sit at a table and one by one they popped over to offer me coke, orange, chocolate and crisps. I felt like I was ten years old again and about to get a lolly for being a good boy...

I guess sometimes being a complete wimp has its upsides...

Just awful looking. Now scroll back up and read the rest.

Thing 28 Crush a Can With My Head

Where's all the cool guy stuff Dan? Where's your dignity Dan? You're a girl Dan... A sample of the many complaints received after yesterday's fake nail task. Tell you what clowns; you try wearing the fake nails for a day and tell me how easy you find it. And I owe you bums nothing. Bah humbug...

Mind you, who am I to refuse to bow to peer pressure so here's a nice manly task. Inspired by way too many American frat-boy movies where some American-Football player shoots his can of beer and slams the empty into his head before letting out a roar. Yeah... that's manly. Take that. And chicks dig it. They find this stuff hot. Don't they?!? Sure... why not? What woman doesn't want to see this on a night in by the telly...?


Sexy. I've just plain old never been tough enough to pull it off. I actually knew a couple of guys who could actually pull it off. Genuinely. They could seem perfectly normal and at home in the middle of a party at college shouting loudly after smashing the remains of their can of Dutch Gold into the side of their head. One part of your brain thinks; what a clown. The other part secretly says; I wish I was brain-dead enough to pull that off... Logic suggests that if you do it often enough, you'll eventually be brain dead, so there's an idea...
Much debate over what way to do this. Smash can to head, smash head to can? I opted for Mr Miyagi style martial arts bit with the head whacking the can, mostly because Pony Boy told me not to and Token Northy said I couldn't. Fastest way in the world to make me do something: tell me I can't. That shot up there is not still, it's a motion shot - moment of impact. For all the massiveness of my giant head, that's as far as I could crush the can.

Still, it's done and I'm glad of it, and it had to be something easy today... long old shift at work. Next time I do something short and easy, here's hoping it doesn't leave me with a red ring on my forehead and a pain in the front of my skull... the things we do to look manly eh?

P.S. 28 Things later and I've actually tried to go a day without swearing six times, all to no avail. I might actually be incapable of spending an entire day without blistering the air around me with swear words...

Thing 27 Wear Fake Nails

Good sweet Jesus, how do you women do this? A large part of this blog is dedicated to doing Things which will teach me more about how the Fairer Sex operates. This is because, like most men, I haven't a damn clue about women. Some fellas will claim that they know what's what in the lady-stakes, but, with the exception of a precious few, that's mostly bullshit. We don't know what's going on. Most women know this, and use it to their advantage. But we'll crack the code yet...

Still, hard not to have questions raised about your sexuality if you're mooching about town with ten lady-nails on.

Don't they look pretty though? Eh? The ones on your right there are my legit fingers, which have nails that are mangled by me biting them. I realise this is disgusting, but that's why it's called a bad-habit. And if it keeps the nails trim? Who's judging eh?



First and foremost; acknowledgments: Lady Northy, for her generous help in putting on the nails and getting me kind of high with the fumes of the glue. Dr Frasier for the photos, and the two women who work in the pharmacy on Cruise's Street for busting the arses' laughing at me when I went in to buy the fake nail remover. Now there's a conversation you don't expect yourself to ever have...

Can you picture yourself asking for fake-nail remover, and when you're asked what kind of fake nails, you just whip the hands out of the pocket and show the girl? And she was hot too. That's all kinds of embarrassing. She couldn't resist calling one of her friends to show her. Meanwhile I was still wearing my shades, because I wasn't sure if I could handle the mechanics of things with my stupid fake nails. I looked like a gimp.

The thing with the nails is that they don't make anything impossible to do, just very, very difficult. Simple crap that you take for granted now become serious chores: Changing the car radio station; opening car windows, taking change out of your pocket, removing car park cards, opening the newspaper, texting, fuck it, even drinking my coffee was more difficult. I guess that women learn to work around these little fences, but men have no idea, so while women have a certain grace about them with the nails, I just succeeded in looking like a complete tool. Well, that's life eh?

Then there's the fun of taking them off. I think the stuff is actually pure alcohol, and I think it got me a little high, so that's cool. Twice in a day. Result. Nails are all covered in glue still. And they look horrendous, but I'm a bloke, so I don't care...


Here's a photo of me not being able to use an i-phone correctly. Touch screen technology was never made for men wearing fake nails... bu to be fair, it's not a huge market, so not many people pander to it...

Thing 26 Make Skittle Vodka

The things we do for a laugh around here. Like most honest to goodness Irish people, lots of it revolves around drink. It's not that there's nothing else to do around here, because there is. There's loads of things to be doing, but we like partying, and we enjoy a good night of drink. So when I crawled out of the leaba at about half eleven this morning, reached for The Project List, I had booze on the brain, which is probably why I chose Skittle Vodka.

Token Northy and Pony Boy will both make accusations of a lack of manliness on my part, and they may be right, but I don't like drinking neat liquor of any description, and yes, every so often I like a fruity drink. It makes it easier to take. And Skittle Vodka seems like it could solve a problem in this regard no?

The Simpsons (who have a quote for everything), gave us the skittlebrau, a beer with skittles floating in it. Skittle Vodka is pretty much the same thing. The Canuck (who I must remember to pay money back to), bought three bags of skittles and a bottle of Smirnoff, which i guess is interchangeable with any vodka really. We sort and separate all the reds and purples, again, interchangeable if you want yellows and oranges no one from the Skittle Vodka police will arrive over to your gaff to wreck the place. Leave it alone in the fridge for a while, in our case, we gave it eight and a half hours. Open. Serve. Gag. In that order.

Honestly, that stuff is horrendous. If you're feeling a bit groggy, you might momentarily forget that you're actually more or less drinking neat vodka, and the nice sugar smell might lead you to believe that this is going to taste nice. The burning sensation in your throat and the watering eyes will quickly disabuse you of that notion. The gag reflex as your mouth starts watering in anticipation of hurling will remind you, if nothing else does, that vodka on it's own, tastes like utter shite.

Here's our tasting panel to review:

Little Flower: "Ugh... God... it's burning my tongue". 2/5

Token Northy: "Well I do like my vodka, and Smirnoff's a crap base to start from... ..." 1.5/5

Pony Boy: "Mmmmmm.... fruity". 3.73/5

Dr Frasier: "Oh God it's horrendous". 1.5/5

So it's not really a runner then... To hell with that, I'll drink it anyway...