SAD PUPPIES

My sister was a strange one when she was little. She had these puppy dogs and she was always mean to them, pulling their tails, leaving them cowering up on high shelves, all that kind of thing. I told her to cut it out but she said they looked cute when they were sad. ‘The sorrowful little whines they make are just so moving’, she argued.

After being mean to the tiny dogs she’d be nice to them for a bit, giving them little treats and so on. She’d soon go back to being mean though. She was only being nice to the puppies to remind them that there was hope. A hopeful little puppy dog that has been badly let down is a cute little puppy dog, . . .apparently. On cold days she’d lock the creatures outside and watch them scratch at the French windows to be let in. ‘Awwww’ she’d say as she observed the confusion and hurt in their eyes.

I once asked her if she had given the dogs names. She said she had a collective name for all of them. She called them Africa.

She listens to a lot of U2 these days.

HAVE YOU SEEN ME?

The other day I woke up to discover that I wasn’t there. I had a good look around but couldn’t find myself in the house. I rang work and was told that I hadn’t shown up there either.

I placed posters in local shops, libraries and recreation centres asking for information on my whereabouts. There was a picture of me on the posters with my mobile phone number displayed under the words: ‘Have You Seen Me? If So Please Call Me At My Number Below’.

Happily, my mobile soon rang and a voice said ‘there you are’ and indeed I was there. I was found and no longer missing. To make sure I don’t lose myself again I’m going to hang my name and address around my neck so that when I’m found I’m immediately returned.

The strange thing is though, I enjoyed being gone.

BLAKE LIVELY: GOOD METABOLISM

Blake Lively feels ‘lucky to have a good metabolism’. The 24-year-old actress is in great shape. Blake works out when she needs to but the stunning star prefers eating to exercise.

‘I'm really lucky to have a good metabolism,’ said Blake at the Jason Wu for Target launch party in New York City. ‘When I have to get in shape for a movie then I can do it but I love to cook a lot. I use a lot of fresh produce. Maybe that helps?’

Blake is inspired to eat well so that she can wear her favourite clothes. The actress can’t wait to begin donning spring fashions. ‘I'll probably be in a lot of high waist mini skirts and shorts this spring’, Blake shared.

There now. Were you fascinated reading that? Were you though? Did you find that really really interesting? I thought you might. People love that sort of thing. It should get the blog a few more hits than usual anyway. I saw that story on another website. I’ve no fuckin’ idea who Blake Lively is to be honest. I only clicked the story because I saw a picture of her in a black coat looking a bit worried and I thought she was mon petit rabble-rouser Lizzie Phelan.

Ahh Lizzie. The heart will be scalded off me if you turn out to be a shill. Scalded! You’ve a grand metabolism yourself though. Look after it.

SIGNING ON

It’s funny but I hear the following music in my head every time I queue to sign on at Hatch 12.

I think it’s the same for everyone there. There’s a kind of golden glow about the place with sunbeams drifting through the skylight and old Morgan Freeman smiling at us from behind the plexiglass. ‘You better get busy livin or get busy dying’, he says and we leave the place, a little tearful but buoyed by the great man’s Hallmark wisdom. ‘Get busy livin or get busy dying’. Hmmm. He’s right you know. I’m going to drop into FAS, see what’s on offer. Hell, I’m going to pull my socks up going forward.

This post has been brought to you by the national internship JobBridge programme: ‘Help others help themselves to you with JobBridge’.

T SHIRT

I saw a nice t-shirt in Urban Outfitters yesterday. It had the words ‘Class War’ written on it. Sadly, it was way out of my price range.

LOL IN SPACE!

I’ll never forget the time I committed a crime against all humanity. As punishment, I was sealed into a metal pod and launched into outer space to orbit a dead star for all eternity. I was provided with a lifetime supply of food and water but nothing else. No books, no music, nothing. I couldn’t even look out the window because there were no windows. I’ll freely admit I spent a lot of time masturbating in that pod but even that pastime had to be abandoned eventually. I had forgotten what women looked like. The closest thing I had for reference was me and I’m a man. I couldn’t even get anything going at half mast because I don’t fancy myself very much. Women didn’t fancy me much either back on Earth. I laughed upon realising the irony of that. I laughed pretty hard. Manically actually. To be honest, I was a cackling like a mad man. It was something to do.

An alien race of voluptuous amazon women eventually found my pod and opened it up. They found me inside, wild eyed and cackling away. The voluptuous alien amazon women were nonplussed and a little fearful. They resealed my pod and put me back in orbit of the dead star like they found me. I didn’t even care. I was having a ball. LOL!

TROJAN

I dropped down on the stage play, Knock Knock, which I mentioned in the last post. It has been running in town for the last couple of decades now, the same performance that is. It’s a play that is so long it doesn’t finish until it is brought to an end by circumstance; a theatre fire or the building being condemned or something like that. The piece has to be that long because it is all about existence. At least, I think it is. You can never be sure. You just write the words really and they fall in a certain order that may or may not mean something.

I was pleased to see that none of the audience had walked out. One died of a congenital condition and was wheeled away on a gurney but that’s not the same as a walk out. Everyone is seeing this performance through to the end. I appreciate their commitment to new forms of theatre. Well, when I say ‘new’ I mean it was new when the audience took their seats. When the curtain rose my play was avant-garde. By the time the curtain falls it will be passé.

I’m impressed by the few fatalities and incidents of ill-health that have occurred during the performance. It must be down to the medical check-ups that are given between acts. These check-ups were included in the price of the ticket. I’d say the play’s audience is kept in better condition than the rest of us. One ageing audience member told me that he intends to survive the play. ‘Otherwise I’ll never find out what the fuck is going on’, he said as his blood pressure was taken.

I found it quite touching to see audience members reunited with relatives and loved ones during the intermission. It was all tears and hugs. I’m glad to have facilitated such a thing. Although, it’s hard to see them part when the usher announces the next act and says that it’s time for everyone to retake their seats. It’s like watching young lovers say goodbye at an airport.

Well, everyone seems interested enough to stay the course but I’m still a little nervous. Not just because of the prolonged first night jitters I’ve been suffering these last decades but also because a reviewer from the Irish Times is in attendance. I hope the paper hasn’t folded by the time the performance ends. It would be great to get a write up. Well, as long as it’s a good write up. During the intermission I braced myself and asked the critic what he thought of the show so far. He described the performance as trojan. ‘Trojan’, he said to me, his eyes weary and bloodshot, his hair matted and face unshaven. ‘Trojan’, he repeated as he was guided back to his seat, head bowed. ‘Trojan’, hmmmm. I think that means he likes it.