Thing 94 Create a Facebook Group

I've no locker in work. Token Northy does. Every so often I leave my stuff in his locker. He rarely objects. Today I returned for my phone and found that I had a new wallpaper on the main screen. Yep. You guessed it: It's today's feature photo. Look at him up there. Majestic. A picture of refined classical charm. The very epitome of dignified class.

Honestly, he's mad as a brush.

It ties in nicely with today's Thing. You see, I love the facebook groups. They show our commonality of childish humour. Groups like "I hate it when you're hanging out with Snoop Dogg and he drops everything like it's hot", or the classic, "that awkward moment when you tell Lionel Ritchie that it's not him you're looking for". I always wanted a fun facebook group. Something like the one Big Red did for his little brother, or when The Frenchman created a group called "There's a Grand Stretch in the Evenings".

So here's what I came up with.

Token Northy's a mad person and you know some mad people, so you should become a member sort of thing page. It's a working title. Just for entertainment, I'd like to see how many people join in a group celebrating our special friend...

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=110895428961905&ref=mf

Join up. In your numbers. Spread the word. Go forth and multiply. Let your words and joinings be as fire in dry grass. Let us celebrate one and all, the unrelenting craziness and proper uniqueness that is Token Northy in all his glory...

From every mountain and by every river, let the joinings be celebrated. For every member I'll be smiling a little wider. For every new soldier in the fight for Token Northy's non-stop enthusiasm for everything I'll be toasting you all and grinning like an idiot.

Let the numbers be immense...

Friends, well wishers, casual passers by and even my enemies. Take some time out to log into facebook and join up. Because I think it'll make Pony Boy and The Frenchman pee a little from laughing.

He's probably going to kill me....

Thing 93 Call A Sex Chatline

Remember those two? Harry Enfield and Chums. Pure priceless comedy. The two pervy old ladies manning the hotline for some sex chat number... "oooh young man..." It's all I could think of today when I picked up the phone. I was weak from laughing. In my head Harry Enfield was on the other end of the line, dressed as some old dear, ready to "ooh young man" me to tears. If you've no idea what I'm talking about, I have the following suggestion: Look up Harry Enfield and Chums. Watch. Laugh.

Now, before you start on, I already know what you're going to say: "Isn't The Project supposed to be something new"?? Chortle chortle... Big Red cracked that joke earlier on today, and if you're competing with Big Red for punch lines then it's a troubled life you lead!!

I've really never called one of these things before. Two reasons: Firstly, I'm sort of a prude when it comes to these things. I know that seems stupid coming from a guy who flew to London to meet some pornstars (see Thing 69 - pun unintentional), but I really do have a shy streak when it comes to sex. Legacy of a catholic upbringing maybe. I'd be far too embarrassed to call one of these in good conscience...

Secondly, they depress me slightly in that Holden Caulfield, Catcher in the Rye kind of way. I feel bad for their existence. I don't begrudge or anything, I just find them hard to bear. I've got some issues.

Anyway. The first thing that strikes one is the very unsexy pre-recording. In what I think might have been a County Clare accent, a man's voice told me....

"Under Section 31 of the Post Offices Act of 1951.... something something something". I don't know what he said after that, I was laughing too hard. I got a mad burst of giddiness. It felt like I was 14 and prank phonecalling someone again. I lost the sense of embarrassment and started to look forward to a chat with the nice lady on the other end.

But wait...

It's a sham. It's not live. I thought that some bloke putting on his best husky lady voice was going to be on the other end trying to convince me that he was a lonely housewife, or some bored girl making some easy money was going to promise me that I had the sexiest voice she'd heard all day.

Not so.

For the generous price of two euro and ninety cents per minute I got to record a brief message...

"Eh... hello. I'm Dan. I've just got a few questions to ask, if you don't mind...?"



"Hi Dan... I'm Liz. People tell me I'm very sexy, you can ask me anything you want".



"Eh... um... ahem... Hello Liz. I'm just curious about your job. Do you get alot of calls. I mean, do a lot of people ring this number. This whole process is making me kind of nervous."



"Don't be nervous Dan. Lots of people call me. I'll answer any questions you have. It doesn't matter how obscene they are".

At that point, I said thanks and hung up. Welll... there's nothing very sexy about that now is there? The only thing that got my pulse racing was the bloody cost. For two euro ninety a minute I was expecting at least Harry Enfield.

The late night TV ads promise so much. hundreds of girls are waiting online to chat to me, they tell me. They're all waiting for your call. It's like the ad promises a veritable feast of awkward, repressed playacting. I was hoping for at least a wind up, if not a pleasant chat. Nothing. I've seen broadcasts of the Six One News with Brian Dobson that were sexier than that.

Still... now I know. And I'll never do it again... Ever.

Thing 92 Make a Pizza From Scratch

Alright alright, it doesn't look like much. But it was very tasty. Well, that's kind of a lie; I made two and one of them was very tasty. The other one was that one up there.

I needed a win after yesterday. Something done well and properly to balance out the fail of yesterday. I also needed it to be not-so-strenuous on the body. My pampered lazy ass is not well today. I creak when I move. People are laughing at me. If I was people and people were me, I'd laugh at me too.

And so... homemade pizza.
Those faces are not the faces of disgust, they're the faces of happiness. I realise that this may come as a surprise. The faces are ridiculous.

The pizza in front of Pony Boy is awesome goodness. The one in front of me is meh. Remember meh? It was the word which best summed up my attempt at baking a chocolate cake. I should get a trophy for meh. I make the most meh chocolate cake ever, and a meh pizza to boot. Someone as proficient at mediocre cooking or baking as me, will surely need help...

Pixie Head to the rescue!!! She knows the ways of the ninja chef (I'm fond of putting the word ninja in sentences to increase the wow factor).
Recipe she sent is simple... Which it would have to be. Pro Ev I'm a master of. Crosswords and word puzzles in general are my bread and butter. Culinary skills... ahem. So here's how it's done.

Two cups of flour. A big-spoon of baking powder, quarter of a little-spoon of salt. Half a big-spoon of oil and two-thirds a cup of water. Mix it all up. Add more flower till it's nice and doughy and not sticky. Thoroughly knead it. Roll it out. Nice and thin. Add ingredients. Bung it into a oven pre-heated to 200 degrees - twenty mins ought to do it. I don't know what that is in Fahrenheit, I'm not American.

Ingredients are important. For sauce; bolognese sauce straight from the jar beats the hell out of tomato puree mixed with olive oil (meh pizza had the latter, delicious pizza the former). Adds a nice tasty base. Some cooked meats straight from the pack- chicken, beef, ham and some veg maybe, sweetcorn, onions, peppers. Never put pineapple on it. Ever. Pineapple has no place on a pizza. This is not a debate.

All in all I'm pretty pleased with it. Tasty pizza, and I didn't have to sweat for it. If it's quite okay with you, I'm calling that a win.

Thing 91 Sit in Every Seat in Thomond Park

Failure: The condition or fact of not achieving the desired end or ends

Failure: One that fails:

Failure: Nonperformance of what is requested or expected; omission.

Failure: The condition or fact of being insufficient or falling short.

I'm a failure.

There are 15,144 seats in Thomond Park. I managed just over 12,000 and then time ran out. The Day for Shane (Shane Gheoghan Trust, it's a worthy cause, a very worthy cause, look it up) match between Sunderland and a Munster XI kicked off, and I was sent packing. In a nice way, all of the staff at Thomond Park were awesome, none of them would give me the bums rush in a bad way.

Here's a list of injuries I was expecting:

Quads. Groin. Calves. Hamstring. Back.

Here's some I wasn't expecting:

Blisters on my palms. Friction burn on my arm. Pains in my knees. Ache in my neck, shoulders, arms.

It was entirely as difficult as the Marathon. The East and West stand number about 7,500 seats each, a little more on the West Stand than on the East. Each stand divides into ten sections with the largest in the centre. East Stand with the accompanying hospitality seats took five hours. Five hours. But it would have been a heartbreaking slog without the following people:

Siobhan and Ray and all at the Darcy team for making it happen. Michelle and John in Thomond Park. Blond Boss, Token Northy and the Frenchman and not forgetting Kirsty for bandaging my wounds while I whinged and whined about my sore hands.

It's a bigger ask than you think. A second per seat is, obviously enough, 15,144 seconds 0r 4.2 hours. That sounds achievable right? Not even. It's pointless trying to. You're talking about pushing down the back of the seat next to you, kicking your feet under you and pushing your own weight across in one second. Not a problem for the first 1,600 seats or so. After that it slows down... slows right down.

So maybe you could push yourself for 2 seconds per seat. That's 8.4 hours. Add ten five minute breaks and now your're talking over nine hours. Half an hour for lunch. 10 hours.

By the time I moved to West Stand my groin (don't giggle children) was in shreds and I couldn't keep pushing myself along, and I was running out of time in a bad way... so I was doubling up on the seats. One ass cheek per seat. If I'd thought of that in the first stand, we might have got this done. Didn't offer any improvement time wise - it was more painful than the first way, except that this way my groin wasn't on fire.

Someone called Ray Darcy on Today FM this morning to say that it couldn't be done... sadly... she was right. But the ever awesome, ever spectacular spiritual home of rugby can wait. I'll be back next week to finish the last three thousand.

I don't like failing. I don't enjoy going home without completing my mission. But what a day... Thomond Park, where I saw Keith Earls burn everyone within half a mile to score a cracking try against Ospreys. Where Paul O'Connell destroyed Cudmore in the most one-sided fist fight in the history of rugby. Where Barry Murphy skinned Robinson to the try line in the Sale Miracle Match. The All Blacks were beaten here, and escaped by the skin of their teeth 30 years later. Full of history. Shame about the Shannon fellas... psyche!!

All complaints regarding this failure, along with lengthy condemnations can be submitted underneath... sorry about the failing.

Thing 90 Write A Song

There have been two lessons learned today:

1: I'm no song-writer.

2: I've a stubborn streak a mile wide.

You'll have noticed Billy Joel smiling at you there at the top of the screen I'm sure. Can't miss him really. In his cool Fonzy leather jacket. Who doesn't want to look that cool eh? Exactly. Everyone wishes they looked that cool.

Quite apart from the man's questionable fashion tastes, there can be no denying that this guy writes a really amazing song. His greatest hits collection is one of my favourite CDs. I don't know why that looks like I'm being sarcastic, I'm really not. I love the man's music. Always A Woman holding a special charm for me - I just think it's a beautiful song. Not much of a one to get you going though is it? For that try Moving Out, Still Rock 'n' Roll or the ultimate We Didn't Start The Fire...

Ahem...

At what point did I start to think I could emulate that genius. I wont tell you how long it took me to get this whole thing done (because that's embarrassing), but suffice to say, everyone else in the whole house has gone to bed save me.

His version runs till the 1980's. I thought I'd have a stab at going from the 1990's until the end of 2009. Bear in mind, I've already listed my limitations, so all criticism will be ignored on the grounds that I'm aware that it's rubbish. Also, I've not had the chance to test it with music, because everyone's in bed...

Basically take We Didn't Start the Fire music and put these lyrics to them...

Maggie Thatcher, Cold War, Pavarotti, Berlin Wall

Old Mandela, Gorbachev and Saddam Hussein

Rodney King, George Bush, Slobodan Milosevic,

Magic Johnson and Mike Tyson, six in Birmingham

Billy Clinton, Escobar, Boutros Ghali, Serbian War,

Major, John, Falun Gong and Manuel Noreigas done

Euro Union, nuclear tests, massacre in Texas

Czech Republic, Ghana and the new Slovakia

We didn't start the fire

It was always burning

Since the world's been turning

We didn't start the fire

No we didn't light it

But we tried to fight it

OJ Simpson, Schumacher, Oscar Schindler, Spielberg

Fred West, Neeson’s Best, Death of Kurt Kobain

Richie Edwards, Jacques Chirac, Johnny Cochrane, Barings Bank,

Forrest Gump, Letterman and Timothy McVeigh

Arafat, Canary Wharf, Mugabe and Kasparov

Unabomber, Magdalene, ‘Pac Shakur and Annan

Spice Girls, Princess Di, Heaven’s Gate, Mir’s on Fire,

Paul Pot and Dot Com, Heaven’s Gate cult is gone.

We didn't start the fire

It was always burning

Since the world's been turning

We didn't start the fire

No we didn't light it

But we tried to fight it

Omagh Bomb, Google’s on, Lewinski and Pokemon

Grylls Climbs, Clinton Lies, Hit Me Baby One More Time

Columbine, Euro Coins, Tour de France Armstrong,

Venezuela’s Chavez, Pakistan’s Mushariff

Y2K, Millenium, Sarah’s Law and Shipman

Long Kesh, Sharon, Bush Wins the Elections

Tito, Napster Peaks, Anthrax, Nepalese,

9/11, Jay Lo, Foot and Mouth Explosion

We didn't start the fire

It was always burning

Since the world's been turning

We didn't start the fire

No we didn't light it

But we tried to fight it

Roy Keane, Beltway, murder of Jam Master Jay

Enron, Tolkien, Osama Bin Laden

Schwarzenegger Governor, protests start against the war,

Paris heat, Huntley, Mission is Accomplished Speech

Lost airs, smoking ban, war crimes trial for Saddam

Tsunami, in the sea, Passion of the Christ released.

We didn't start the fire

It was always burning

Since the world's been turning

We didn't start the fire

No we didn't light it

But we tried to fight it

Cartoon Riots, Kyoto, George Bush has a second go,

Pope Dies, 8 Live, Johnny Cash Walk the Line

X-men, bird flu, UN Ban Ki Moon

Harry Potter History, Victory for Sarkozy

Lisbon Treaty, Bill Gates, Summer Games Beijing,

Hadron Cern, Bank Concern, Mars, Oil, Raul’s Turn

Obama’s now the boss, Michael Jackson life lost,

Banking crisis first explodes, what else do you want to know…

We didn't start the fire

It was always burning

Since the world's been turning

We didn't start the fire

No we didn't light it

But we tried to fight it

Thing 89 Write A Letter to Future Me

Pictured: The future... it's awesome...

Suggestion of the day: Write a letter to future self. You're a pure genius Doctor O. So here it is...

Dear Future Me,

How are you? Hope you're well. In fact, I really hope you're very well. If you're not, we're both fairly screwed. You know, with you being me and all. You already know this, and maybe you're looking forward to it, but I hope you've somehow forgotten that this is coming, and that it takes you by surprise in some way. I want this to be a shock to your system. I want you to be afraid of your judgement from the past.

This letter to you/me will outline some things that I consider relevant. I want you to know what's coming in the following paragraphs. Firstly; I'm going to make sure you've achieved some of my goals. I want to check to see if you've bailed on some important bits that I want covered. Secondly; I want to make sure that you don't make certain mistakes. If you've started doing some things, or acting certain ways, I want you to feel like shit over them. There're certain things I really don't want you doing.

At the time of reading this you'll be 31 going on 32. In my book that's pretty old. And long past the time at which you're expected to have achieved something. First and foremost, I want you to get married, or at least be engaged. If you're not, it just means that you're still being a girl's blouse when it comes to relationships. There are certain excuses which will exempt you, but they're pretty significant. If you're not involved in a serious and progressive relationship then you're just being me, and that's sad. I expect us to have grown up by then. Matured a little if you will.

With regard to life goals. I've wanted to write a novel since I was twelve reading David Eddings novels in the back of my maths class when I should have been studying (sorry Ms. Chawke). If you've not managed this, then you've failed us both. I don't want to seem like I'm putting pressure on you, but you've got five years to achieve this. There's pretty much nothing you can't do in five years. We've wanted to do this for a while, and 32 is too old not have done it. If you haven't - hang your head, or at least offer someone a decent excuse. Not that I think you've got any. This one is really not negotiable.

At this point Ci Ci Do's kids will be past ten years old. You're expected to be a friend to them. They're your nieces and nephew. They better love their Uncle Dan. Birthdays and Christmas presents better have been awesome. This one is more important than the last two. By a good distance. Don't let us down.

It's a given that you better be still as tight with your immediate family. There's no excuse on this planet which allows you to dodge your obligation to keep looking after, supporting and loving your family. Rows are not tolerated or allowed. We've been down this road.

As for your friends. I've kind of set you up here. They're pretty class, despite the fact that I'm a bit cranky. If our friends aren't your friends then you owe it to me to patch up whatever differences you have and make it better. If you've lost them, then it's on you to take whatever steps are necessary to build the bridges to make things better.

I hope that these things are all ridiculous to you. I hope you're reading this and laughing because you've managed to keep all of these things sacred, and that there's a lot more to your life to boot, but these are the minimum requirements. If you are laughing at it, then here's a handy thing for you to do. To celebrate the fact that you've ticked all these boxes (and only if you have), get to an off-licence, buy an expensive bottle of scotch and have a drink with The Canuck. He'll get a serious kick out of this.

Now to the don't-dos. If you own a wardrobe of extremely expensive clothes you're to burn them. Some expensive clothes are allowed. Very high quality clothes are okay. You're just not allowed to have that many expensive clothes. It's a look that doesn't suit us. Never has. Never will.

If you're watching reality TV you're expected to immediately punch yourself in the head. Are you? If so, punch now. You know how I feel about reality TV.

You're not allowed to spend a year outside of Limerick. I realise this is unlikely in the next five years, but if you've spent a year outside the city then the chances are that you've neglected friends and family and are guilty of infringements laid out in the first part of this letter. By all means move elsewhere if circumstances dictate, but you've to visit. See mam and dad. Thorny Wire, Bean Bag, Ci Ci Do, Puc It Out and all the kids. As well as the mates. A year without a visit is not acceptable.

If you're a millionaire - and I hope you are, you better not be a douche. You'll know if you are.

As I said at the start, I hope this letter finds you well. I hope that none of the above apply to you. I wish you and all yours/mine well from the year 2010. I hope this was a good year for us...

Good luck. Have fun. Don't stop squeezing. Mind the step.

Dan

Thing 88 Go Falconing

In the long list of manly Things remaining on this Project (it's not that long a list, there's nearly more girly Things than manly Things) this one must have been the best. Birds of prey sitting on my arm for the purpose of hunting small animals.

We didn't actually do any small animal hunting we just took our Harris Hawks for a walk in the woods. Technically this Thing should have been called "hawking" but that implies alot of saliva and spitting, of which there was very little. We could have used falcons - there were alot of them, and they're the fastest creatures on earth. Fastest ever. Awesome.

We used Harris Hawks instead. Typically a little slower than the falcon, the Harris Hawks are actually better hunters, and are the only birds of prey that hunt in a pack. The wolves of the sky. Did you hear how cool that is: Wolves of the Sky. Sitting on my arm. The buzz is unreal.
That's Samhraidh on my arm there. He's telling me that he doesn't mind sitting there, but there's a good chance that he's about to take off and eat something small. I assume. He might be saying "that hat makes you look stupid", but I'm hoping for the former. I don't speak Hawk.

Basically I got soaked all day and had a blast, and I wasn't even in Oxegen. Take that Punchestown. Ashford Castle in Cong, County Mayo has you beaten any day of the week. You might have Eminem, but we've got hawks and hunting. Token Northy was equally impressed, but Big Mac, he was absolutely blown away. Look at him there in his fancy Indiana Jones hat... just darling.
Hawks see in ultra violet. They have their own personalities. They're trained in two months when they're tiny and wee. And the females are the boss. That's actually the understatement of the century. The females are about 47% larger than the males. They perch higher, and force the males to perch lower. They eat any surplus males from any clutch. They keep one or two (lucky) males for stud (super lucky) and the rest are given the bum's rush pretty fast.

It really is not a male's world. Not for hawks anyway.

Ashford Castle. Cong. County Mayo. If you've nothing else to do, the more you get into a class, the cheaper it gets. 55 squid for the three of us (each) and we got to stroll around some beautiful forest lands with the birds of prey showing us how it's done. Worth every penny.