Reality TV Project

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.