Thing 204 Cook Fish in the Dishwasher

Urban myth or actual thing? The internet is full of interesting things, some of which, and brace yourself for this, are not actually true. Some of the things on the internet are, in fact, fraudulent. I'll let you absorb that for a few minutes...

So far though, the internet's been good to The Project. Remember when I opened a bottle of wine with a shoe? That was one of the interweb's finest suggestions. Executed in style and consumed in minutes... I'm a bit of a fan of the wine. The difference with this thing was that there was no video, I didn't even see this on the net. Pony Boy told me about it. I was skeptical... So let's make a Project Thing out of it. Great idea.
That's my dishwasher there. Those are the recently unloaded dishes, still not cleared away on the counter. We're a tad lazy with the cleaning this week. Work getting in the way and all that.

The promise is simple: Take a fillet of fish (i'm not a big fan of fish by the way, I eat it only occasionally, so I don't know what's good or bad in the fish stakes (bad pun, I'm sorry). I opted for salmon, only because it was the only one I could recognise in the shop.
Wrap it tightly in tin foil. And I mean tightly. The last thing you want is dishwasher water getting in there. Set your disher to a seventy five degree wash. Dirty dishes are optional. I decided against them - which is bad for the environment, I know, and I'm sorry... but I had to know...
Delicious. Honestly. Fish is tasty in general, but well steamed dishwasher fish seems to be extra nice. I'm a fan. Next time I'm going to lob in a bunch of potatoes, tightly wrapped and some brocolli, and I'll put on a wash too.

Who says men can't multitask...?
By the way, sorry about the skin in this photo, it's a fairly provocative shot... I just wanted you to see my dishwasher clean salmon, which I promptly ate. Thanks internet. You've always got the best ideas...

Thing 203 Write a Cartoon Strip

Ever read Cyanide and Happiness? Be warned, if you're planning to look for it, it's dark. It's a sick black humour that makes my sides split from laughing. Every single day the chaps at explosm.net write themselves a new Cyanide and Happiness cartoon strip, and every day I read it, and then spend some time clicking the "Random" button to read back over strips I've already seen. And I laugh and laugh. Now that I think about it, I must be pretty sick in the head - it's ridiculously dark stuff.

Anyway, I've always wanted to guest write my own Cyanide and Happiness cartoon, so I've decided to do that. Completely infringing copyright law (please don't sue me, I love you guys) and blatantly stealing someone else's artwork, I sat down to write some funnies...

I should tip the hat to the real comic geniuses. It took me an hour and a half to write too comic strips. Neither one of which were that funny. I hope you can read them, they seem a little small. The first one is okay, as jokes go. The second one is just stupid.
I really thought this would be a strong suit for me. I thought I was going to kick some ass at this. I've watched hundreds of episodes of Family Guy and Futurama. I'm blue in the face from South Park and I've read every Calvin and Hobbes ever. And this is the best I could come up with...

You're right to judge me.

There's an art to consistently funny writing (before you make the joke, I realise that there's a certain level of stupid coincidence that goes with writing this blog and talking about being consistently unfunny). You've got to really appreciate the writers of shows like South Park, and Family Guy. Some episodes may not be as funny as others, but over all, these are pretty funny, most of the time. My humour is much more physical, in that, I'm funny to look at, physically. And I'm chubby. This is a hilarious combination.

I decided on a formula for my comic strip: Set up - standard line with expected finish. Reel - slight change of direction. Obscenity - finish off with some bad language or off colour abuse. It's potty humour, and I love it that way.

I think I could do this for fun...

You know what... as I'm blogging, I think I'll try one more...

That's actually not bad... I'm pretty pleased about it...

Thing 202 Learn About A New Country

When I was down in Wexford at (the most amazing and spectacular Opera House in the whole world - honestly, I'll never get sick of plugging it, it's THAT good), someone gave me a suggestion for The Project. Since this is, ostensibly, a Project about learning and developing myself, then here's my chance to get some education. Pick a country that I know nothing about, and start learning. Seems easy. Straightforward new Thing, but thoroughly enlightening. Let me tell you a little bit about Mozambique..

It wasn't independent until 1975, until then, it was a Portuguese colony, and run by the little nation that could, which is situated next to Spain (for information, Ireland is, the little nation that couldn't). It's one of the fastest growing economies in the world with an annual growth rate of between 8 and 14%. They had a cyclone and some serious ass flooding back in 2002, and their economy still grew by 2.1%. That's faster than most European economies during boom time.

It wasn't rosey all the time, it rarely is for newly liberated colonies. They had civil war from 1977 to 1992. That's a pretty long war. Seriously. But things are looking up now. It's a mostly Christian country, in that Christians make up around half the population, Muslims accounting for just over a quarter. The rest is a bit of a mix.

The Zambezi River splits the country neatly in two, and the Zambezi Valley is a fertile zone. Tourism is improving, but not at the rate it should be for the South Eastern African country.

The fun part about this particular Thing, is that I'll rock like socks at any Mozambique related Table Quiz questions. Seriously though, it was a good suggestion for a Project Thing, in theory. Learn about a new place. Educate myself. Problem is that it's very specific and now that I know alot about the country (it relies most heavily on foreign direct investment, and through bilateral agreements with Portugal, children from Mozambique are accepted into Portuguese educational institutions, with Portugal remaining an important trading and international relations partner), it's just one subject. I know alot about a little, and very little about a lot.

Still, it was different. For an hour on a regular Monday night, I sat down and learned about something I knew nothing about. Felt like Leaving Cert study... shudder.

Thing 201 Wrong Way Around a Roundabout

Remember the cycling through Drive-Thru Thing? Well this is kind of like that. It makes no sense, it's not really supposed to. I'm kind of kooky like that. I don't invest a lot of my time into making sense. I just wanted to do it. In fact, I've always wanted to do it...

There's a little switch in my head, I think, which, when tripped, will cause me to do the opposite of what is conventional and socially acceptable. It's a liberating feeling to do something that is plain wrong, and goes against what's been socially built into us. Well, not all the time, skipping queues for example is just plain disgraceful, and spitting or urinating in public is never going to be okay, but little things like this... well they're just empowering.

Thing is though, driving the wrong way around a roundabout is highly illegal, and massively dangerous, not to mention monumentally stupid. So there's a delicate act to doing it. First of all; pick a private roundabout in a private area. An example of a place that I thought was private but is actually public property is a University or college campus. Secondly; scout for other traffic. Scouting is a delicate and unusual procedure involving looking in many directions. Here's an example of what not to do: Sort of look around, then drive onto the roundabout correctly, realise there's traffic and then just do circles for a bit before chickening out and driving away. Thirdly; have an escape plan.

After bottling it and legging it from the roundabout, I waited, biding my time, till the coast was clear. The Thief, God Boy, The Canuck and The Frenchman all stayed stum... A gap... go for it...

People who don't know how to drive on roundabouts infuriate me. Technically, this means I spent a few minutes infuriating myself. It's a strange sensation, turning left while driving on the roundabout. Like I said earlier, we've been socially conditioned to know how to drive on these, and years of repeating the same pattern have taught us how it's done, and what's the correct way. It's not easy overriding that. And when you do, it's a bizarre feeling. I've never turned left on a roundabout before...

Now for the escape plan... Eh... wait... How does one exit a roundabout if one is driving the wrong way. The Frenchman panicked: "How do we get off this thing..." He literally roared it. The others started laughing. I just drove around in circles until I got my bearings. I pulled off the roundabout...

Phew...

Someone slapped The Frenchman to calm his hysteria. Surreal moment. No lie.

Thing 200 Climb Slieve Donard

Slieve Donard is a mountain. The Canuck calls it a hill, and he's probably right. I'm sure it's dwarfed by Canada's smallest mountain, but in Ireland. Donard is a mountain. And it's awesome. It sits, with its base parked right next to the beautiful and magnificent seaside town of Newcastle in County Down. I think I might be in love with the place. Anyone who's been reading this blog for a while knows that Token Northy adopted me and now I think I'm an honorary Down man. Newcastle is the reason I love Down. Donard is one of the reasons I love Newcastle...

Mind you, for just a few hours on Saturday, I hated Donard. With all my soul.

We weren't just climbing Donard though. There's an ancient old tradition up in that part of the world, so old that most people don't even know about it, it's kind of fallen into the annals of history. Basically, there's a cairn at the top (for those not in the know, that's an old Celtic burial mound), and the tradition is that you pick up a rock on the beach and carry it to the cairn, and leave it there.

Effectively, it's not enough to climb the two-thousand-seven hundred feet height of Donard, you've got to carry a rock with you.

This is the source of much contention. Seven men climbing a mountain, testing their manliness against a mighty hill. Two small a rock and the other men will be manlier. They'll have more hair on their chests and will be able to fart louder than me. Too large a rock and I'll die, spewing up my lungs and coughing to death on the side of mountain by the sea. Decisions, decisions.

We all opted for a similar sized rock, just smaller than the size of our heads. Not too small to be embarrassing, not too big to be a show off. Except God Boy. He brought a rock about the size of the palm of his hand. And laughed at me huffing and puffing all the way to the top. Clever bastard.

Speaking of which. If there were two men I'd have expected to drag their feet and die every ten minutes all the way to the top (as I did), I'd have expected to them to be The Frenchman and God Boy. Deceptive chain smokers that they are, they were actually the first up there. I think for the first time ever, I hated them both a little just then...

We left at eleven in the morning. We got to the top at two fifteen. I had a pint of Guinness in front of me at five thirty. Seems like a good round trip right? It's not as challenging as I make it out to be. I just want it to seem hard to justify my near death experience that came on me every time I looked at how much we had left to climb. If you're ever in the area, get your ass over to Slieve Donard and make that climb. It's amazing, and if I can do it, so can you...

Thing 199 Munster Away Game

That's Ivan Dineen there. Scoring the only try of the game. It's a nice thing to be a Munster fan. It's a large family, from all over the province. There's as much love for the Men in Red in Tralee and Tipperary as there is in Cork and Cobh. Limerick's a special place for rugby too. It's been the venue for some amazing Munster victories, and a tragic loss or two as well. Limerick people consider themselves especially attached to rugby, but no one is more attached than anyone else to Munster. There are die-hard Munster fans in Ennis, Waterford, Clonmel, Dungarvan, Kilkee, Kilrush, Abbeyfeale, Blarney... it's everywhere.

I like to think I'm a die-hard fan. I love the club, I love the game, I love the spirit and mentality... Can you really call yourself a die hard if you've never travelled away to see your heroes? I think you can, but I know others would disagree. It's not really about how far you go, it's about how you show your support; whether that's in Limerick, Cork or anywhere else on this wide blue planet.

Still though, it does feel kind of special to be standing in Ravenhill on a wet, blustery, windy Friday evening watching the lads run out to represent. There's a little thrill of satisfaction in knowing that you've made the journey, for the lads, and thousands of others didn't. I felt briefly sorry for The Thief. I'm sure when I said "we're going to Belfast" she was thinking; City Centre, shops, bars, cafes, culture... Not standing in the flogging rain listening to me berate the referee for an hour and a half. She bore it well.

Hats of to Ravenhill by the way, there were umpteen food stands, drinks tents, crepes, shops and everything else in between. Smashing venue. What it lacked was what makes Thomond Park special - proximity to the pitch. No matter where we stood, you never really felt like you were in on the action. Part of that, it has to be said, was the eerie feeling that came with being one of only a handful of people celebrating when we scored points.

I'm used to complete silence for kicks, we didn't get it. I'm also used to that huge surging roar when we score points, be it from the boot, or over the white line, there's nothing beats the rush of Munster fans in full voice for a score.

Myself, God Boy and Top Cat cheering like lunatics to the sound of utter silence around us was a little unnerving. Well, I tell a lie. It wasn't utter silence. The nice chaps behind us were thoroughly reassuring just after Musnter had taken the lead: "It's a long walk home naked boys..." They were kidding, it was a bit of banter, but it highlighted that "away from home" feeling.

I think I kind of loved it. I wonder would some one sort me out with tickets for Wales to see us against the Ospreys? Seems unlikely...

By the way; I like to think I know rugby: Who's your man in the centre we were asking each other. Dineen? Plays for Cons does he? We were unimpressed. Eighty minutes later and we were cheerfully eating our humble pie. Ivan Dineen - you're a legend! Great try! So much me for and Top Cat. Know it alls.

P.S. Watch Top Cat do his thing: This is his website. He's like a professional fan. See his work. Be impressed:

http://www.comeonmunster.ie/

Thing 198 Free Hugs

When I was in college I used to get bored of queuing for a seat, so I'd hop up onto a desk, and walk across the top of rows of desks until I found a seat, then I'd plonk myself down. Years later several friends would tell me that they thought I was a giant douchebag. I didn't see the problem at the time - I didn't want to wait, and there was a quick way to a seat. Embarrassment never occured to me. No idea what shame was...

That can be remedied though. Testicle waxing on live radio is a quick way to mortification. Walking through Limerick City Centre with a sign that says free hugs is another way. I don't do embarrassment very well.
I picked clothes out that were inoffensive and relatively easy on the eye - being bearded was also a poor decision. Few people can pull off the beard and still be huggable. Jesus and Santa being prime examples, but other than that, it's not easy to be bearded and have people trust you enough to want to hug you. I went out to the streets armed with my sign and and expecting an unholy and god-awful torrent of abuse.

At the best of times these things are an unpleasant combination - embarrassment and abuse. I'm usually the one dishing out the abuse.
Went well. Not just well. It went amazingly. One kid of about twelve walked past and gave some guff, and some woman who appeared to be in her thirties said she'd be happier to give me hugs if I was good looking (which made me laugh my ass off, and stung the ego a tad). Other than that, there was no abuse, there were loads of hugs though.

Well over a hundred. Pony Boy watched for quality control purposes, and because he knew he'd get a laugh out of it. Three little kids followed me around for about an hour. Advance warning people that a walking hugging machine was making its way through town.

Up and down Cruises' Street, O'Connell Street, Bedford Row, Thomas Street, outside Penny's.

Honestly though, if you think about it, who in Ireland likes having their personal space invaded? I don't. Which kind of makes it a shitty stunt to go invading someone else's for fun. Plus, it seemed like the kind of thing someone would do in California or something. Not very Limerick for sure.

I had every age group, every race, colour and creed. I even had a Charlie Chaplin hug. Parents walking with their kids hugged me, and then their kids did too. I hugged three generations of one family. A group of shoppers walked passed, shook their heads at me as they laughed, stopped came back and hugged the crap out of me.
I was full sure I'd hate today. I didn't. I kind of loved it actually. Spreading the love. It's good for the soul, apparently.