Sunday, May 29, 2005

Victory and crap musicals

Rafa should tell Milan Baros to do one. Seriously. I mean what's all this 'Valencia want me and I want to go there but I also want to stay at Liverpool' bollocks? Fuck off out of that Baros, you're nought but an inconsistent whinger.

And what of Wednesday gone? Went to McGeoughs is what. 15 or 20 of us comfortably perched on high in Phibsboro, dealt liquor by Alan McGeough and making merry. Then, the fuckers go 3-0 up and it's all over. At this stage we were a miserable bunch, apart from 5X who took glee in our utter shitness.

I switched seats, sat beside the Clerkin lad and BAM! 3-3 before you could say "crikey, Radge looks like Rafa Benitez. So he does."

Anyway, we won. You definitely know that already. It was a great game, though I'll go out on a limb here and say it wasn't the best game of football ever played, as has been reported. The result, however, was delivered from the Gods themselves and I woke on Thursday with my head throbbing, my throat cut up to shit but my soul dancing the Mersey beat. Nearly went over for the victory parade with Johnny and all, but prior engagements prohibited it.

Everything else this week has been superfluous. Went to 'I, Keano' last night with John Boy and glory be it was appalling. We upped and left after half an hour, realising our lives were short and drinking lager beer next door in Brogans would be far preferable to seeing some camp 'song and dance' act with bad acting, woeful set pieces and a script so lazy it could have been written by...well...I dunno...someone who...you know yourselves...

And tonight myself and 5X are off to the boozer for a couple of ales. Come do.

Saturday, May 14, 2005

Light my Arcade Fire

Cough, splutter and splash. Hello.

Mighty fine weather we're having this weather. Took myself off to Killiney on Thursday just gone, then Dalkey and back to the hubbub. It was class, I lapped up the sea and the sound of silence and sight of affluence and it was nice. Sun was splitting the stones too, even the chickenheads were made bearable by my sunny state.

Anyway, it's Saturday and I'm sat at my work desk. Why? Happenstance. I don't care. I'm full of excessive energy now that I'm ten days gargleless. Best I've felt in an age. Still, wouldn't mind a cider, it being the nice weather and all.

What else? The head is shaved. I've the look of a psychopath about me - until the glasses go on, that is.

What else? I'm having The Arcade Fire. 'Power Out' is one of the best things I've heard since I managed a nascent John Cash. They are Talking Heads. They are Bowie. They are The Cure. They are the business.

What else? I'm off.

Friday, May 06, 2005

Rub her soul...

Sweet mother of all that is holy, it's been an aeon since I entered. In all senses. I actually tried to blog last week, but all I managed was pap and I never posted. At least this will be cheery pap.

Off work today, you see, left 5X to man the traps. Asked him to write a feature on JJ72, he refused and with good cause. He said that, had I forced his hand to up the feature, he'd destroy them through the medium of new media. Seeing as Andrew Greaney, brother of lead singer Mark, sent me the following glorying message this morn...

"It's great! Tony is back! Where are the pacifists and their placards now? Ah? Ah? Ah? Go Tony!"

...I thought it'd be a little insensitive to rag on his brother. So 5X will be doing something else, slavving to some degree no doubt.

Followed up a weekend of utmost non-activeness with merry, merry pissedyness on Tuesday night. The 25th is gonna be a dinger, we'll take Milan and rip 'em a new panino. For sure. Wednesday was more boozishness by way of Grogans - it's built out of spit, I'm sure of it - so last night saw me eschew the possibility of pints with rogue trader Nick Leeson. I would've been there, but I felt my brain and soul had gone numb, and my leg was wicked sore.

It was Fell's doing, wonder if Leeson showed??? Only Fell can tell...

What else? Nought really. There's a pall of insurrection in the air but I have to remain vague on that one. Is that vague? Can't really tell anymore.

Staying up this weekend, fuck all money and my head's still a far cry from clarity so I'll take her handy, gonna buy me Badlands on DVD. It was on the other night but I couldn't keep the eyes open. Sissy Spacek in her younger days, would you?

You would, you know.