Get walking.

Happy Ginger day and happy Halloween! I hope everyone is going out on the razz tonight. Are you dressing up? I am! The house is stocked with mini bars of chocolate for the hordes of ghouls and goblins that will show up at the door and since I'm not in training for anything I can imbibe delicious rum to my heart's contentment. Huzzah to holidays.
But ya boo sucks to taxi fares. From the witching hour tonight taxi fares are going up 8.3 percent!! That's a helluva jump there old beans. This means the cost of hailing a taxi will rise to €4.10 at the standard rate and €4.45 at the premium rate. Not cheap I can tell you. And yet another reason to stay in of an evening.
But not tonight, oh no, tonight I'm out and about and marmalade bless Country Gay and his nefarious ways, I will be hobbnobbing it in style. Naturally I will awake tomorrow with the sand of doom pilling up into little dusty hillocks on my tongue, but I don't care. I don't have to DO anything tomorrow, I don't have to run anywhere. I can sit around like a normal person, sipping painkillers and groaning gently. Map my run? Kiss my bum.
Huzzah!
Have a good one freaks. Show 'em your pucker lovemuffintop. Folk need a bit of puckerin' on a ginger day.

My cat is part skunk, part squid, all fucker.

Almost exact rendering--->



The Bigger of The Cats is a black and white monstrosity- he looks like Sylvester or Pepe le Pew. He is knocking on 14/15 years now (not sure exactly as he is a rescue) and he is a very annoying animal.
He thinks I am a cat butler and exist only to feed and open and close doors for him.
He likes to yowl, loudly and plaintively, about nothing from time to time.
He likes to catch me asleep and then wake me up by cracking me as hard as possible in the cheek with his big concrete head.
He bullies Puddy relentlessly.
He likes to plonk his big arse on my lap whenever he catches me doing something that requires cat free laps, like reading the paper.
He will sit right in the middle of the paper if he considers me not attentive to his cat needs (which as far as I can see involves scratching the back of his neck while he coos to himself).
He sharpens his nails on my office chair-regardless of whether I am sitting in it or not.
He likes to grab my feet/socks/fingers when I am sitting on the edge of my bed in the morning.
He insists we play 'bat bat cat' every day for at least twenty minutes.
He likes to go into other people's homes.
He goes out the front of the house even though he knows he's not allowed as I have a big terror of him being run over.
He is currently asleep and shedding on a basket of clean towels, despite the fact that he could sleep anywhere else if he wanted.
He brings in dead/oozing/half dead/sprightly yet damp animals into the home on a regular basis.
He murdered Napoleon.
He is apparently part skunk.
What's that?
Oh yes. See he has a trick, something I didn't think possible in a cat, but there you have it. That's cats for you, just when you think you have them worked out they pull some tricksy shit on you.
He has ALWAYS been a very annoying animal but yesterday's appalling behaviour has pushed him into the super annoying cat-e- gory ( see what I did there, oh just shut up).
Yesterday I was here, at my desk, typing boring shit about art. He was faffing about the place looking for mischief or possible a game of 'bat bat cat'. Because I was busy I ignored his 'Nar-oow?' calls and turned the music up slightly.
This pissed him off and he jumped on my desk and sat directly in front of my computer screen, gazing at me with his stupid cross-eyed gaze, his tongue protruding from his daft mouth the way it always does.
'Nar-oow?'
'Get off my desk you hairy dribbling fucker.' I said, kindly.
'Nar-oow?'
'No, not now, go on get off.'
I picked him up and dropped him to the floor.
He jumped back up immediately and sat on my keyboard.
So I pushed him to the side and slapped his big arse repeatedly, but softly, you know the way.
'Go on, go on, be off with you.' I said.
And that's when he did it.
He squirted my computer screen with poo goo, or anus juice as the paramour calls it. A couple of drops of grey foul smelling liquid.
'Bleeeeeeeeeee!!' I said softly, jumping up.
He hopped down and sauntered off.
I had to go get some tissue and screen clean to remove his poo goo. I cannot describe the smell really, but I always think it must be the same smell bodies give off after they've exploded from internal gasses on hot sunny days.
He did that once before in the vets when he was getting an abscess lanced. One minutes I was holding him and chatting with our vet, the next me and the vet were trying desperately not to breathe as squid arse sprayed us with his inky poo goo.
How can he do that? How can an animal express displeasure in such a fashion? I'm disturbed and the paramour is jealous of his unnatural abilities.
'Imagine how awesome it would be to be able to squirt inky plop at people who piss you off.'The paramour said, while making 'a seafood bonanza', doubtless thinking of Harry Redknapp.
'Yes.' I said, scratching the bigger of the cat's head as he cooed to himself on my lap. 'Imagine.'

Wedding Style!

This is 16 year old Missy Quinn on her wedding day. It fair brings a tear to the eye does it not? Thank gawd for the Daily Wail. I must send this IMMEDIATELY to my friend who is to be wed later in the year, in case she needs any ideas for her dress.

Docky To The Rescue!

Apropos of my earlier post, Docky just sent me this and asked me to post it. He is a man of rare class and a top ginger to boot.
Observe, from Docky.

"There are stem cells for almost every tissue. You walk around with a
small number of stem cells in your muscles - buried deep inside. Your
bone marrow contains stem cells and indeed bone marrow stem cells are
used in the cure of cancers - leukaemia and tumours. The stem cells in
muscle and bone marrow are an 'advanced' stem cell, derived from
embryonic stem cells from waaaay back when you were a small ball of
cells (called a blastocyst). The thing about embryonic stem cells is
that they are complete blank cells. We can induce them to become any
cell in the body, where muscle stem cells can only be turned into
muscle. We have spent some years trying to re-programme muscle stem
cells to make them into a different kind of stem cell and there has
been some success.

So, the progression is: embryonic stem cell goes to tissue-specific
stem cell goes to being a tissue. This is why the embryonic stem cell
is so valuable for research.

We only get embryonic stem cells from blastocysts. They are developed
by in vitro fertilisation (sperm plus egg in a tube). They are put
into a warm incubator and at the 10-day stage, you have a blastocyst.
This is a ball of 100 cells and in the middle of the ball, are the
embryonic stem cells. To obtain the stem cells, you break open the
blastocyst and retrieve the cells, which can be the coaxeed into
becoming a specific kind of cell (blood, skin, heart, brain). The
reason for doing this is to cure diseases such as alzheimers,
diabetes, parkinsons. Essentially, diseases that won't heal
themselves (a cut will heal itself).

I'm in favour of this kind of research. The clincher for me is this question:

There are 500,000 blastocysts being stored in freezers around the
world. These are from IVF treatments. It is unsafe to use these
blastocysts in IVF after 5 years in the freezer, therefore, they must
be destroyed or kept frozen for the millennia, persumably. Should
they be destroyed without retrieving the embryonic stem cells first or
should the embryonic stem cells be removed first before the
blastocysts are destroyed?

I have asked this in several embryonic stem cell debates and so far
have not received a satisfactory answer from the pro-life movement. I
debated Dr. Berry Kiely on Prime Time a couple of years ago and she
didn't want to touch the issue. In a different debate Prof. William
Reville in Cork weakly suggested we would get half a million women to
allow their wombs be used to 'adopt' the embryos. Here in Maynooth, I
debated Prof. Gerry Whyte (at a meeting organised by the pro-life
movement of all things) and he has the opinion that it is not illegal
to not try to cure diseases (I find this attitude unacceptable).
Bottom line is that these blastocysts are all going to be destroyed.
The question is whether we use some of the cells from these embryos in
our efforts to cure disease.

As for importing the embryos - of course it is an irish solution to an
irish problem. If the research is to be done, then there is a sop to
those on the committee that are slightly frightened to give the stamp
of approval."


Terrific, and a big hearty thank you Docku for taking the time to explain things is such fine readable detail.
This quote fucks me right of, 'he has the opinion that it is not illegal
to not try to cure diseases" No, it's not illegal, but surely immoral. Why on earth wouldn't someone want to cure disease?

Right, plenty of food for thought no? Off to the gym, later.

UCC and Embryonic research.

"The governing body of UCC yesterday voted in favour of the proposal, but the controversial vote was only won by the narrowest of margins — 16 to 15 votes."
The rest of the article is here.
naturally the Church is up in about it but they wouldn't be the only ones. I find it a strange decision myself, not that I am against scientific research, but why we are importing embryos? Doesn't it strike you as slightly hypocritical? We export our abortion problem and import embryos? What is the objection to the research? Is it a moral quagmire? Is it belief in the value of an embryo? But aren't thousands of embryos destroyed routinely during IVF in this country already? I don't know enough about it really, but I believe stem cell research can benefit people who are suffering from all manner of genetic diseases. Surely the value of lives already lived is worth more that non-implanted potential lives? Or is that just a slippery slope?
What do you think?

Dublin City Marathon 08.

Good morning, and a hearty ye-ouch to you all. I won't lie to you, there really isn't anywhere that does not hurt on my body this morning. Nothing major, just achy muscles. Getting out of bed was interesting, getting out of this chair should be interesting. Going up and down steps should be VERY interesting.
And yet- despite the pain- I'm feeling pretty darned good. Yesterday was terrific and despite the fact that I am lacking any new gears, I managed somehow to knock 18 minutes of last year's time. Brilliant day too, the weather- which I was worried was about- was gorgeous. Bright and sunny, with very little wind. It was perfect Autumnal day and ideal running conditions. The organisers did themselves proud. Once again the crowds that lined the way were truly generous. I slapped the hand off many a child.
It was a different run to last year too, the hills surprisingly I found no trouble at all, which I believe is down to a combination of kickboxing and squatting. There is no doubt my legs are much stronger than last year. I met Country Gay and his dog near the half way mark and that was during the long haul from Rialto to Kimmage. It's not steep that part, but it is a incline that lasts for about two miles. Bit tiring, so it was great to meet him.
I didn't hit any wall, but the last two miles were tough going. I was being chaffed by my sports bra and my legs were tired. However I poodled on and crossed the line with a big 'huzzah!'
Then I collected my blue medal, had a quick look for Aisling, but the baggage area looked busy and unless she was wearing a grey hat, I couldn't see her.
Some minutes later I met the paramour who whisked me off for a much needed pint. Nom nom.
There was was one dark spot yesterday, and that was the amount of runners out who clearly were not prepared for that distance. And they were mostly young men, in their twenties. At the 16 mile mark you could see a lot of young guys in distress, hobbling and looking seriously under pressure or completely cramped up. 16 miles is a horrible place to be that banjaxed, faced with 10 grueling miles there's not really anything to do but dig deep and go forwards. But I know a lot of those guy -if they managed to keep going- must be in ribbons today.
26.2 miles is no joke. It's doable of course, but you've got to give it the respect it deserves. The paramour and I were talking about what I saw and we reckon those young lads are probably fit young lads who play some kind of sport on a regular basis, and thought that with minimal training they could do the marathon. But playing football or rugby or whatever while excellent for fitness is no substitute for time spent running. You just can't expect to get away with it and it must be really horrible to put your body through that kind of trauma. I mean some of these chaps were absolutely fucked.
Anyhoo. I've got breakfast to attend to. Thank to everyone again for all the terrific support, it mach a difference you know, it really really does.

Motivation for nervous Fatcats.

(On the ipod, for when legs get wibblywobbly)


Avast! And a hearty harro to you on this wet and windy Satdee. I will be off shortly to pick my bib and race number from the RDS- just as soon as I can locate the email they sent me all those months ago when I deemed it utterly reasonable to run 26.2 miles.
What on earth was I thinking?
Anyhoo, I must have been thinking something because I'm doing it again. I will be sqiffy with anxiety for the next two days, annoying the paramour with questions like 'What if my leg explodes at the 18 mile mark?' and 'Do you think it will rain? Do you? Huh? Do you?' And so on.
I am prepared though. Apart from doing a spot of running over the last two weeks or so, I have tried on many variety of running outfits, checking for chaffing/chafing and my music is being loaded up as I type. I have Glide, gels, jellies, a hat and a mountain of pain killers and plasters and...well let's just say I won't be standing in line at a chemists this year mid race.
I also have a cold, and I managed to put on three pounds this week by eating more carbs than you can shake a stick of butter at. Standing on the bathroom scales this morning was quite a revelation. Seems I really HAVE the capacity to turn into my mother if only I didn't run around quite a lot normally. Eek.
Anyhoo, since this will be my last post until after the marathon I just wanted to say a big cheers to all of you for being such good company on these motivational posts. I know they can get a bit dull, 'ran today, ran yesterday, running tomorrow...' but they help me and I like reading about everyone else's trials and tribulations as we adults do our very best to stave off belly-spread, laziness and impending death.
So thank you.
Kissy kissy.
FMC

Pepper Spray and Home protection on Gingerday.

( ginger home security)--->



Someone broke into the apartment of the neighbours of the Spaniard(phew) the other night. They slapped one of the chaps around, tied them up and robbed them. She of course slept through the whole thing as she wears ear plugs, even though there was an ambulance and the guards called. She told me this yesterday evening after we watched John Malkovich take a small axe to an intruder he caught in his house. I turned my usual shade of grey as I immediately imagined what might have happened if it had been her place they had hit.
Or mine.
Jesus. It's bloody frightening to think of intruders in your home creeping around in the dark. Very bloody frightening indeed.
I find it interesting to note the reactions in some quarters to news that the Guards will now be carrying pepper spray or incapacitating spray. The Irish Council of Civil Liberties had this to say on the matter.
"Pepper spray weapons – including their active ingredients and their chemical solvents and propellants – can have damaging short and long-term effects on a number of bodily systems and functions. These weapons are particularly dangerous if used against people whose health is impaired or on young people."
Er quite. It is still better than getting shot though. And considering attacks on Guards are on the increase it makes sense to me to arm them with non lethal weapons such as pepper spray.
I think I'd go the whole hog and arm them with actual guns. I would also like to own my own gun too while I'm at it. Something with a pearl handle. Light enough to carry, but with sufficient wallop.
Of course that's unlikely to happen in this country so I shall remain gunless and hope I never get attacked out on the street or have anyone break into my home in the middle of the night. I do have a golf club beside my bed and I would have no hesitation at all in teeing off on an intruder's head should I get the chance, but I don't want to ever find myself in that situation. There's always the chance you miss and then what?
But what can we do to stay safe? I'm forever lecturing Gothy to be 'aware' when she's out and about at night. I've told her if she's ever grabbed scream blue fucking murder and run like hell.
I should follow my own bloody advice and stop running after dark with my ipod on, indeed I have to a certain extent. I lock my windows and doors at night, we're usually very careful in that respect. But what else can a body do?
Well not a whole lot actually.
So I'm twitchy today. Twitchy and I've pulled a muscle in my neck by doing nothing more strenuous than stretching. And I have a cold. And the marathon is only days away. And my friend could very easily have been attacked at night in her apartment.
Twitchy I tell you.

I hate PETA.

I truly despise PETA, oh let me count the ways. They routinely exploit women, they think nothing of being casually racist, they tell lies, spread misinformation and they operate a kill policy in their shelters. They are headed up by a maniac and I just truly truly dislike them.
So it was with quick lit fury I spotted the DSPCA running one of their tedious fucking bullshit campaigns. The Buy One Kill One campaign. (way to go DSPCA, Foster debate? Are you mad?)
This particular campaign is 'allegedly' to inform those dastardly people who might buy a pedigree dog just how much a blight on the animal kingdom they are. You see, proles and boobies, YOU (and by you I mean people like you and me) YOU are the very reason doggies and cats are being killed by their thousands every day in our pounds. YOU, if you get a pup from a breeder and YOU if you don't. Oh yes, you see by not doing anything you're killing a dog. By carefully selecting a breed, thinking long and hard about whether you can give a dog a good home and then researching what type of dog you would like, well, you're killing puppies. See, by NOT going to the pound and adopting some mutt somebody else didn't want you're responsible. Likewise you are CLEARLY responsible for every mangy flu riddled cat you've ever chased out of your garden. See, it's YOUR fault. Why? Because PETA say so. Oh yes, and if ANY OF YOU even think about having children in the future or if you have them now I want you to think of the baby you let die in an orphanage some where because that's your fault too. Why would you want a child of your own when you can adopt somebody else's child? What's wrong with you????

Dear PETA, get a fucking grip you bunch of whiny minging fuckwits. Responsible owners are not your problem, irresponsible owners are. And since people buying pedigree dogs usually shell out quite a lot of money for them they usually have given it some thought before hand. I'm not saying everyone does of course, people are people, but by and large. Sure you'll find pure bred dogs unwanted in shelters too, but by and large it's mongrels and crossed breeds filling up the cages, the results of idiots letting dogs breed willy nilly and being too stupid or too lazy to shore up the puppy flood by engaging in a spaying and neutering scheme.
Here is what I will do with Batman and Mister Woo. I will source them from excellent breeders who don't run puppy farms.
I will require to see their parents.
I will vaccinate them and neuter them-so they don't breed more puppies.
I will microchip them.
I will understand that dog shed/drool/smell/dig/poo/pee/and bark.
I will allow them to sleep.
I will not get bent out of shape when they chew things- I will provide Kongs and rawhide bones for puppy teeth.
I will feed them quality food- this will include cheese and bacon and mashed potato.
I will exercise them daily.
I will allow the cats to sort out the pecking orders.
I will understand that a filthy tired dog is frequently a happy dog.
I will keep up their vet appointments.
I will foot the bill should they require any medical care.
I will not let them roam free, causing accidents to others or getting injured themselves.
I will train them not to be aggressive to people.
I will not allow them up on the furniture, but I will provide beds in the house and most probably up against a radiator.
I will leave them with Country Gay when I go on holiday.
I will keep them until they are old and infirm and so long as they have good quality of life.
I will keep them alive.

When the time comes to let them go I will do so and not let them linger in any pain or discomfort because I selfishly want more time with them or I'm too much of a wimp to put my dog first.
I will remain with them as they are being put to sleep, I won't let them spend their last moments on this earth alone or with strangers.

At no point will my dog/dogs become pound fodder. The will not become a number. They will be family. If you think this equals the death of one or two mongrels in the pound then so be it. I didn't breed those dogs or abandon them, so fuck you for trying to shift the blame from where it should squarely lay. If people routinely let dogs keep their balls and produce litter after litter of unwanted pups that's not my fault. If people don't place any value on an animal that's not my fault. I am responsible for me and for my own actions, and if after careful consideration and an understanding of the commitment required to be a dog owner I chose to get a pedigree dog or two then fuck you for trying to make me feel bad about it. But see here's the rub PETA, I won't feel bad about it because I know that you are a bunch of lying, brain-dead, animal slaughtering misanthropic cuntbulters and since I already hate you and everything you stand for I'll just chalk this brief feeling of fury up to another notch on the pole of Fuck PETA I'm busily carving.
PETA- I am SO against them.

An early question of pronunciation.

Issue- do you pronounce it 'iss-u' or 'ish-u'?

Medical Card Theft.

" TAOISEACH Brian Cowen last night lost his second government TD over the medical cards fiasco as the Budget fallout further eroded his Dail majority.

And the departure of Finian McGrath could yet be followed by walkouts from fellow independents Michael Lowry and Jackie Healy-Rae, as the unsinkable coalition put together by Bertie Ahern begins to fall apart.

The exit of the independents would significantly boost the Green party's strength in the coalition, with their support now vital to the very survival of the government."


That was from the Indo. REVOLT! (quite frankly this situation is only going to get worse.)
Driving back from the airport this morning- Good morning texter JL Pagano!- I was really fucked off to hear an 83 year-old man on Newstalk radio tell of how he was travelling down from Galway to attend a protest in Dublin over Brian Lennihan's decision to take medical cards off the over 70s. It was absolutely SICKENING to hear the fear and despair in his voice as he fretted about whether he or his good lady wife might cope without the card. That he felt he had no OPTION but to take his health in his own hands and travel from one side of the country to the other to fight.
Lennihan said he was going to protect the vulnerable. Well who on earth is more vulnerable than old folk trying to get by on a pension? What was his thinking in this? Eleven years of unprecedented financial gains and now when the belts need to be tightened slightly why should the old take the brunt?
Kevin Myers was on Newstalk yesterday prattling on about how many old folk were 'millionaires' since many of them had bought their homes back in the 60s ergo they didn't deserve to be granted medical cards. Myself and the Paramour could only shake our heads at this kind of bollocks. On paper it's easy to be a millionaire I suppose. Certainly it's easy to be a mindless booby.
Most people of a certain age are trying to get by, if they have managed over the years-after paying Christ knows what in tax and raising families- to set aside some money for their golden years then they should not be punished for that. Old fold did not dig us into the current crisis, they should not be made dig us out.
For shame FF, for crying shame.

Death is a choice.

I've seldom ever felt more sorry for folk than for the parents of Daniel James, the young rugby player who suffered a devastating injury last year that left him paralysed from the chest down. Despite every medical effort Daniel knew he wasn't going to recover and rather than live what he classed as a a second class life he convinced his parents to allow him to go to Switzerland and be euthanized. Poor brave man, and poor brave parents for allowing him to decide his own path despite their obvious heartbreak. I couldn't even imagine what it must have been like for them to watch their son suffer or what it must have been like to watch him die.
It infuriates me that some bloody busy body has reported them to the police. Someone who never met their son before or after his accident has taken it upon themselves to interfere and make a tragic situation more painful for those involved.
Daniel was a grown man, he made a decision regarding his own life and died with dignity and bravery. What business that is of anyone else is beyond my ken.
But isn't there always fucking one dipshit that feels the need to impose their values on everyone else?

Bah.

Anyway

There's only nine days to D day and I'm a nervous nelly. Heading to the park in an hour to run some strides, then it's food glorious food for the rest of this week as I carb load to my heart's contentment. I'm sure everyone else has done MARVELOUS things this week. I miss weights.

Gingerday, peace be upon y'all/ and a foodie rant.

(Nicole Kidman- after ingesting Parsley)--->


Top of the morning to you. Recession doom and gloom and mongering of fear getting to you? Me too. However there are a FEW good things to the penny watching.
I like to eat out, or rather I used to like to eat out, but over the last year or so I've sort of stopped as I got a pain in my inflated sense of harddonebyness when ever I did so. Anyone else noticed how standards of food and staff has slipped in the capital? Manuel can probably assure me that standards of costumer has slithered down the pole too, but from my perspective my main gripe is food.
See, I like going to various places for various dishes. I don't expect restaurants to be totally supermega awesome with every dish. But if you eat out long enough you do come to expect places to perfect at least one dish.
It USED to be that the seafood ramon in Wagamamma was the very best, now they have changed the recipe and it is watery poo.
It USED to be that Saba did an excellent thai lunch on Satdee's, now it too has dribbled down to mediocre, with slow staff and bland dishes- although their salt and pepper squid is still delicious.
it USED to be that The Corner Grill was a decent place to get lunch, now the meat is tasteless, the mash cold and the service so slow you might as well call in the morning to order lunch. No wonder the Spaniard feels justified in stealing all their steak knives.
It USED to be that BoBos on Wexford street did the very best burger in all the land- oh no wait, they still do that.
Gotham USED to do a good salad, now it is slimy slurm slithering sloppily about.
Fallon and Byrne USED to do a decent lunch menu, now they have changed it and made it dull, a bit wanky and frankly uninspiring, not to mention expensive.
L'Ecrivain's lunch menu is fine but the dishes are so tiny you need to call to Burdocks for a battered cod and chips on the way home to fill up. And if that's the case I'd rather cut out the over priced hoo-haa and just go straight to Burdocks.
It USED to be that you could get a decent cup of coffee in the Shelbourne, now for some strange reason it tastes of mud.
Don't get me started on the amount of dishes I have had to send back over the the last few months, festooned with ghastly parsley-I'm particularly thinking of a cheese and italian ham board in Enoteca Torina. I mean come fucking on. Chopped Parsley over cheese and cured meat?? Is it on the menu? No. Well then don't add it unasked for to perfectly good food.
It's a bit dispiriting going out for food, shelling out your hard earned dosh only to find that restaurants are no longer terribly interested in whether or not you enjoyed the experience. A decade of busy tables and high turnovers over has hardened their coughs. But nothing makes a restaurant pull the proverbial finger from its arse faster than the high pitched yelp of recession.
Tightening my own belt means I will not BE eating out so often, which I don't mind at the moment as I steadfastly refuse to pay hand over fist for poor service and tedious food. But it also means that when I DO venture out I will be casting a sharp eye across the foodie spectrum and settling only on quality dining. I'd rather pay more for an excellent meal less often that shell out money on a regular basis for sub standard fare.
So huzzah to L'Gueuleton, harroo to Sawadee and big up to Bobos. for continuing to do good honest to god simple food well. I will happily give you my business for as long as you happily treat me like a valued costumer. Quid pro Quo. Quid Pro Quo.

The Skeptic's Dilemma.

I have a pal I have lunch with every couple of weeks. We've known each other since school and although we are not buddy buddies I am inordinately fond of her and we always have a very pleasant time when we meet up.
But she threw me for a loop on our last lunch when she tried to introduce me to the concept of 'other plains.'
Now I have an abiding and pretty full on dislike of all things woo, but despite that I am not a gal that goes to woo sites on a regular basis mocking and going 'na na ni nah na youse are quern stoopid.' I just don't. That would be rude. I try to limit my intolerance of bollocks to my own site and occasionally snorting out loud when ever I am forced to endure woo related bollocksology.
Anyway this gal isn't stupid-in fact she's engagingly clever- and we had a robust to-ing and fro-ing of arguments and it was all done in a particular light hearted way.
But this morning this book landed on my mat. With a cheery card suggesting that I read it with an 'open mind'.
I turned said book over and took a gander. The very first few line on the blurb are thus...
" What would you do if you were sitting quietly in your living room when a mysterious couple appeared from out of nowhere- and then told you they were "ascended masters" who had come to reveal some shocking secrets of existence and teach you the miraculous powers of advanced forgiveness? Call a psychiatrist? Call out for pizza?
When two such teachers appeared before Gary Renard in 1992, he chose to listen to them ( and ask a lot of impertinent questions). The result is this startling book: and extraordinary record of 17 mind bending conversations that took place over nearly a decade, reorienting the author's life and giving the world an uncompromising introduction to a spiritual teaching destined to change human history"

Well. What would I do? Firstly I'd probably call my editor and fire him, right after I put down my crack pipe and called out for pizza. After that I might have some more questions.
But that's if two such 'ascended masters' appeared. Right now my questions are more salient.
Do I
A) read this tome with an 'open mind' as my good friend suggests?
B) Have some buttery toast?
C) Go to Aldi?
D) Read this tome with a highly critical mind, ring up my friend and berate her for introducing my delicate morning self to a man who thinks typing a sentence like 'You don't choose cancer on this level and more than a baby chose to be deformed on this level. Illness was made by your mind at a larger level.' might be the winning formula is understanding the universe and grabing the hearts an minds of the people who inhabit it?
Questions, questions.
I will however make more coffee. Hopefully I won't snort any more of it out of my nose.

Succinct View of The Budget.

Etheline offered me her view on the budget.
'...a fucking joke. Those lying blatant thieving fucking Fianna Fail fuckers, they've pissed away all the money they should have saved over a fucking DECADE of unprecedented growth and now they want us to cover their fucking arses. They're robbing us twice and we're holding our wallets open for them while they do it. Fuck them. And FUCK anyone who voted for them...'
There was more, but my keyboard started smoking and I need it today.

Budget Woes.

What do we feel will come out of this man's mouth? Smokers! I'd say your days are numbered. Christ knows how much everything else is going to go up by.
Fear, I haz it.

********************************************************

Time for a nervous musical interlude. Maestro! Bring on the grinning jackanape!

"Tragedy
When the feeling's gone and you can't go on
It's tragedy
When the morning cries and you don't know why
It's hard to bear
With no-one to love you you're
Goin' nowhere
Tragedy
When you lose control and you got no soul
It's tragedy
When the morning cries and you don't know why
It's hard to bear
With no-one to love you you're
Goin' nowhere"


Spirit fingers! We need more spirit fingers!!

Periods/Lady Time /Fuck Wittery

"Fretting boyfriends need never worry about upsetting their girlfriend during that particular time of the month with the help of a new reminder system."
I've never liked the tired yet oft trotted out claptrapular notion that periods make women into monsters. I don't like women using it as an excuse for shitty behaviour ( indeed Jane from Druncondra, if you're throwing cups at your partner on a regualar basis I'd say you've got a lot more to worry about than periods) and I don't like men dismissing women's actions and reactions as 'hormonal'. If you got told off in work by your female boss it's probably not because she's 'on the blob' but because she thinks you're a useless article and she'd like you to do fucking better. If your wife is mad at you for something stop and have a little think, go for a poo with the newspaper and think, was there something you did/said that might have cause her brow to furrow? Oh right, that.
This kind of 'hur hur periods' bullshit reduces women to unthinking hormonobots, unwilling slaves to the fluctuations of their sex and it needs to be booted firmly in the hole whenever it raises its head.
A gal might very well get a bit hormonal every now and again-hell we are CHOCK FUCKING FULL of them, but that doesn't mean she's going to grow two heads and suddenly start foaming at the mouth and hunting down small animals to tear asunder. It doesn't mean our cognitive thinking abilities have packed up and gone to Tahiti for a few days. So why should a man suddenly start treating her with kid gloves?
So naturally this article from the Herald has me rolling my eyes in all sorts of directions.
Seriously, what a load of gooch fungus. Let's consider the fact that nearly all women over the age of 12 and under the age of 55 are having periods on a monthly basis, that's a lot of women. And yet we haven't gone on violent rampages and killing sprees just because the lining of our wombs is ripping free from our bodies in a bloody, breast aching, cramping, back hurting way. That we don't in fact turn into mindless thugs is testament to our fantastic good nature. Frankly I'd like to see a man go through the same shit every month- purely on a scientific quest- and see how he handles it.
Bullshit websites like PMSbuddy are tedious patronising hooey. Poor little things that we women are, so enslaved to our hormones that we cannot control our widdle feelings and emotions. And of course the poor men need to be told -via an alarm- that their partners or wife is a loose canon and best avoided. God forbid two adults might actually know how to interact with each other minus outside jocular alarmed help. God forbid a man might know his partner has a period and might be in some pain or discomfort. God forbid a women might not be mature enough to handle her own bodily fucking functions without resorting to mindless snarking victim.
Here's a reality check. Go outside and look around you. See all those women? You can be sure a lot of them are bleeding up a storm right now. Are they carrying petrol powered chainsaws? Sawn off shotguns? Blunderbusses? No? Then shove your alarm up your hole until you actually need one to remind you to get the fuck out of Dodge.
PSMbuddy- go fuck a duck. You ain't no buddy of mine. I am against you.

Pick and Choose Policing.

I was strolling through town with the paramour yesterday. Busy busy as Sundays are wont to be. At the top of Grafton Street unfunny comedian David McSavage held sway with a microphone, insulting people willy nilly and playing 'Twist and Shout' on an acoustic guitar- both blunderbussing offenses in my view. Under every cash machine some variation of hobo sat, demanding money from people, Chuggers (charity muggers) were out in force, there was didgeridoo playing dude and a man with a puppet dancing to Amy Winehouse outside HMV, oh and the occasional 'statue' was taking a much deserved fag break.
On Wicklow street we watched two Ban Gardas bravely tackle a skinny teenager who was busking. 'Move it along' the one wearing make-up Lily Savage wouldn't have worn in daylight said, 'you can't sing here.'
We stood outside the Louis Vuitton luggage display window (drool). I looked at the travel cases. The paramour watched the guards, his green/brown eyes narrowing.
'Amazing that they pick on some harmless kid singing Wonderwall, but they leave that utter bollocks at the top of the street alone.' He said as the young lad packed up his guitar and slouched up the road, his Converse slapping dejectedly against the pavement.
'Yep.' I said.
We watched the two women proceed up the street, making a fine circle to avoid an aggressive looking tramp sitting outside the Centra hassling people for coins.
Amazing.

Count down to DCM has commenced.

I'd like to show you my knuckles today but it would put you off breakfast. Suffice to say I am missing bits of skin on three knuckles and two fingers bends-AND I was wearing gloves. Anyway, kickboxing and running, that's what it was. Today's run which I am about to embark upon in less than half a hour- is a 25k doozy taking in a lap of the Phoenix Park. It will be my second last long run before Marathon day. Last one will be 30k and Im planning to pull that off around the 16th, then if all goes well I will taper and carb scoffing to my heart's contentment. Weather-mild, not raining,not windy, hell yeah.
I'll be listening to Mirror in the Bathroom and wishing I could fight like Benny the jet and coo coo ke chooing over Cusack. Why? Why not?

Happy Ginger Day Crazies!

Roll up Roll up. Come see the wannabe Ginger. Yep, as you can see here not everyone is lucky enough to be born ginger. Or have teeth. But his priorities are in the right place. He decided to hell with teeth, I will BE a ginger by hook or by crook. Can't argue with that. Admit it, you'd tally his banana good and proper.
I had McDonalds today for the first time in three years. That in itself is hardly that interesting, but the crazies that loop de loop around McDonalds are.
'Can I take your order?' Pleasant girl behind counter says to chap to my left who promptly moonwalks to the next cashier and then to the next before twirling twirling always twirling back to the original girl. She never batted an eyelid.

Chap to my right.
'Can I take your order.'
'WHERE ARE YOU FROM?' shrieks he.
'Poland.'
'ANOTHER....BLOODY POLE!!'
And instead of jabbing her fingers into his eyes, yanking out his eyeballs and deep frying them, this girl smiled sweetly and said, 'yes, may I take your order?'

'Fucking crazies in here' I said to the paramour.
'Big Macs aren't really as big as I remember them.' said he.
Quite. But it was yummy.

The Straight Agenda.

Anyone watch EastEnders? I don't, but that doesn't matter. I'm going to write to the BBC and complain anyway. I've had it up to hear with their hetrosexual agenda. It's disgusting. Shoving straight down our throats left and right. Who do they think they are? I am appalled! No wait, I'm outraged. They are really taking the crumpet. They? What they? Are you mad? That they of course. I had to explain to Puddy after she caught a glimpse of straight folk doing straight folk things AND before the watershed too. Disgraceful. How am I supposed to explain that sort of carry on to a cat? It was so awkward too. 'Look Puddy', I said, 'I know this is hard to understand, but sometimes people..now not everyone, but some people, er, sometimes- some people well, they like to go about in public, eating and shopping and getting haircuts. Now don't look at me like that, I know what you're thinking Puddy. But what can I tell you. It 2008, people being people is all the rage. Not me of course, but other folk.'
Fortunately Puddy believed me and returned to important things like shedding all over my chenille throw, but man that could really have been tricky.
Agendas! I'm against them.

A poor start to the day.

I have smashed the coffee press-before I managed to have coffee. This days suck already.

Criminal Minds.

Some people are just idiots. If you want to be a crook then perhaps tattooing your name and date of birth on your neck is not the way to go about it. I did however like his lawyers argument that he ought not be sent to prison as it 'clearly wasn't working.'
Yep, let's not punish the carjackers, the thieves and the criminally stupid, let's just shake our heads, wag our fingers and say 'naughty naughty' instead.

Baby Whisperer Derek Ogilvie= epic fail

I'd like to say I was stunned to read that baby mind reader Derek Ogilvie failed miserably in the James Randi test, but of course I am not. The man is a deluded fraud and when unable to cold read parents he had no recourse left to him but to fail.
This is routinely what happens to 'psychics' and other hucksters are called upon to provide evidence that their 'gifts' are real.
But what truly pisses me off is the lack of media interest when one or other of these charlatans is exposed. Where are the articles about their exposure? Where are the articles commenting on his evident inability to read the minds of small babies?
It does seem the media are content to let these snake oil peddlers diddle the public quite mercilessly. They're allowed to carry on dribbling their lies and accepting money from the gullible as though nothing untoward has happened.
Like all fraudsters Ogilvie is now trying to move the goal posts, he failed the tests, even though he initially said he was happy with how they were conducted, he signed a contract and was filmed throughout, but so what? he's not happy. This is the woo woo way. When you're embedded so deep in a plethora of lies you have no option but to make excuse after excuse in an attempt to deflect from your short comings.
Derek Ogilvie is a fraud. He cannot do what he claims he can do. There is no other way to say it and no way for him to disguise it.
Baby Whisperers, I am against them.

Well Duh.

I was driving back form lunch yesterday when I overheard a sentence so fucking stupid I immediately invoked a Twentyism.
The piece I was listening to on Today Fm was about the 'Mosquito.' . For those who have never heard of the mosquito it is a high pitched sound aimed at deterring groups of teenagers from hanging about.
Some witless boobie said that a shop or warehouse or whatever employing one of these devices might in fact be causing 'assault' on precious teenage ears, as it 'was subjecting them to a sound against their will.'
Have you EVER heard a more vacuous thought expressed? 'Subjecting them to a sound against their will.'
The radio in the kitchen is currently paying, 'If you need need a plumber in the Liberties...11, 11 8 11, Eircom, 11, 8, 11.' Can I call Eircom up and accuse them of assaulting me and my ears by playing that dreadful bloody song? Aren't all of us subjected to sound against our will on a regular basis?
I know teenagers, as far as I am aware most of them have two perfectly working appendages called legs. If you're standing about somewhere and a sound pisses you off you can ENGAGE those things called legs and move off. Thus saving yourself from 'assault' and making the shop keeper happy that his favourite Euros were spent rather wisely.
This is EXACTLY what is wrong in this country, namby mamby claptrap. Oh, their poor widdle ears. Assuming they haven't already gone deaf from permanent attachment to iPods and mobile phones, 'assault from a mosquito' must be unbearable. Or, you know, maybe it isn't.

Countdown to M day/ running music.

There's not much to tell you. Running, running kickboxing, not going out drinking, running. It will remain thus until I finish that blasted race. Running from Dun Laoghaire today. It's mighty windy, so I'll be doing well not to get blown all over the place. I also need new music on the iPod, I've heard everything I have eleventy million times now and I'm sick of it all. In fact I need new running music full stop.
So far I've got

Siouxie & The Banshees- Cities in Dust
Hysteria- Muse
Starlight- Muse
Sober -Tool
Sex on Fire- Kings of Leon


And that's bloody it. And that ain't going to get me far. Anyone with some good suggestions? It would be much appreciated.

Happy Ginger day to you. Thanks gawd for fashion. We'll all be wearing this come next Friday won't we?
Brrr, it's also getting cold. A quick scan of the papers reveals nothing to warm the cockles of my heart either. People are astounded Sarah Palin didn't make a complete mess of her debate, I am astounded people are astounded. Talk about setting the bar low.
Steven Fossett's remains may have been found.
Papers warn of tough cuts and hikes in the next budget.
Irish Nationwide has used to government guarantee to shill for deposits.
Schools are underfunded.
Sarah Palin has an Irish connection, roots traced to Roscommon.
I have a meeting later.


Sigh. I don't know how many of you have ever read Bloom County. But if you have, then you'll understand that this day requires a mass dandelion break.

Sharon Stone is mad as a box of badgers.

Sharon Stone, she of the chinese Karma and eager beaver, has reportedly lost custody of her eldest son. One of the MANY weird quirks of Sharon's version of being a good mother was suggesting her son get his feet botoxed to prevent them from getting sweaty and then ponging up a bit. Yep, she actually wanted to inject an eight year old boys' feet with botulism to depongify them. Wonder what plan she had for skidmark prevention? I would like to point out that I believe she also has green eyes, and I have a theory about people with green eyes.

Bank Guarantee to be made Law

"The emergency legislation to give effect to the Government's €420 billion bank guarantee scheme is set to be signed into law by President Mary McAleese at around lunchtime today."

Our government stayed up way past beddy byes last night in an attempt to come up with a solution to out currant free falling economy. They've offered to cover the asses, sorry, assets of six of our major lending institutions and possibly one or two Uk owned Irish bacnks too. Other UK banks are pissed off, claiming anti- competitive actions. But oh well, in time of crisis each must look to their own.
You can read the article here.

Well, there's that I suppose. So why do I feel so twitchy about it all. Why do I get a feeling we, us, the tax paper, are going to get hit in the goolies to shore up this guarantee? How can the government afford to cover it should things get much worse? Are not the revenues and thus Irish coffers very much down this year? Is this a case of borrowing from Peter to pay Paul?
I'm nervous. How you doing?

Teachers need to Teach...

and parents need to bloody parent.

This article from today's Times has my eye balls rolling. It is not the job of a teacher to 'inform' parents that their children are overweight or obese. Surely a parent with a set of eyes can notice things like that for themselves.

'"I would like to see teachers being more proactive," Prof Moyna said. "I think it's important that primary teachers stand up and be prepared to measure this on a regular basis. It's something that could be incorporated into PE [physical education] or biology lessons and would only take 30 seconds."

Is he for real? 30 seconds of what? Measure what exactly? Measure fat? Measure reactions? Measure tape worms?

Imagine lining up a group of children, taking their heights and BMIs on a regular basis and then labeling each child. 'Sorry Mikey, BMI of 30, you need to lay off the rice crispy buns. NEXT!' Imagine how that child would feel? His self esteem? How much of his self worth would be tied up in BMI Day.
I have no doubt there is a growing problem of obesity in this country, but humiliating children is not proactive or a step in the right direction. Teachers should teach, end of. And not be expected to solve social problems.