Tributes

I have crossed the threshold of maturity: 18 today! It is so strange, I feel a genuine sense of pleasure at becoming one year older today, as opposed to the usual indifference which has accompanied previous birthdays. I am attributing this solely to that fact that I actually put some effort into organising some birthday celebrations this year, and this upholds my adamant belief that it is the people who celebrate with you and not the celebration itself which makes an occasion: in a way you're not even celebrating the birthday in the end - you're just marveling at simply being together, at having each other as fucking great friends. And so it is with this sentiment, as well as a terrible hangover, that I begin my blog of Tributes to those people who made my party great (Yes I'm that proud: it was fucking AWESOME), those people who threw their study out the window in favour of slaving away making playlists into the wee hours of the morning, who taped together literally hundreds of thousands of pieces of crepe paper which would never be appreciated in the way that they deserved, who generally rocked on and got everybody in the mood with a great set which no-one wanted to end, who bounced the bounce and bombed the bombs, or who simply by their natural likeability and love for fun created the atmosphere.

Let's start with Lisa. When I innocently asked her a month ago would she mind if I asked her to organise the music for the party, and she stepped up to the challenge, little did she know what would lie ahead: formatting issues, a far too extensive number of songs, crises involving arrangement on playlists and the final stretch of burning it all and hoping everyone would like it. With admirably little moaning she carried out The Task, as it was to be so befittingly capitalised, and on the night it was received extremely well. Infinite kudos and a regrettable promise to return the favour go out to her, wherever she may be, most likely somewhere between this world and that of "you-tube".

Next we move along to those who helped me get the house prepared and stocked up: Declan, who lent us the use of his car and was not only overflowing with great ideas for the party but also handled the delicate matter of getting the booze, being one of the few people there who was 'come of age'. To put it simply: if Carlsberg did friends...

Then there was Cian, who worked away through one of the hottest days of the year helping me move around furniture and clear away the breakables, not to mention the inventive creation of 'atmospheric lighting' using crepe paper, a lot of crepe paper, with never a frown. This was horribly undervalued by everyone at the party, but I still think it was worth making - it was certainly difficult enough: why don't you try sticking up paper over your bulbs so pathetic that the power of the light emitted is powerful enough to knock it to the floor? Clare D also assisted at this time, though I can't for the life of me remember what she did to help... oh well, I'm sure she was a great support. (...)

Of course it would be just immoral to go any further without giving a mention to what certain informed insider sources in the music industry are calling 'the next big thing' - yes, that's right goys - it's Funky Thursday! Having seen them play a number of times before I honestly didn't expect them to surprise me last night by how good they were; but alas, they went far beyond my expectations. 'Showstopping'; they had everyone, to borrow a well-known phrase, 'rockin' and jivin' (with jesus!)'. A special tribute to Neil should be made here for overcoming a mid-set vocal problem when in typical diva fashion he demanded pure honey to soothe his aching chords.

Ok I really would love to go on and on and on and I seriously could, but I'm very tired so I'm going to list briefly everyone else that sticks in my mind. Paul, for doing what he does best, baking kick-ass cakes (yez...). Cathy, for raising the tone somewhat with her somewhat more cool college friends who know how to play everything on the guitar ever, and for acting well the part of the cool older sister. Stef, for cleaning up the kitchen better than it has ever been cleaned up before. A number of people for just effortlessly being the ones who made friends with everyone: Hugo (everybody loves you), Clare D, Tiernan, Declan, Aido, and many more. 

The last thing goes out to everyone who came for makes a memorable birthday for me: because it's not every day you turn 18 (and people love an excuse for a party). All that's left to say is: THANK YOU!

Exams!

Yes, it's that time of the year again. And since I've been cooped up inside for the past week alternating between studying desperately, tearing page after page out of my notepad, on the verge of paralysis from the horror of how much Maths I do not know, and watching The Inbetweeners on 4od, I can think of nothing better to write about other than the matter at hand.

Friday - Irish

I did a very disproportionate amount of study for this one as it was my first exam. I spent the previous week writing and rewriting essays about 'Gealt' (For our international readers that's 'crazy person/maniac/looper') and 'Jack', probably the two worst poems ever written in any language, and 'An Bhean Óg' ('the young woman'), a story in which nothing happens for a very long time. Needless to say, I excelled in the exam, and felt extremely pleased afterwards, but this was followed immediately by a feeling of impending doom about all the other subjects, for which I hadn't done a tap.

Monday - English and Music

Both of these went well since they don't involve much learning off of reels of useless shite, and suit well the winger of exams. Our music teacher Ms. Dunne put the same question on the paper that she gave us at Christmas, pretending that it was a favour she was doing us instead of the truth that she just hadn't bothered to make out a new one. All's well that ends well, I suppose...

Tuesday - Latin

Can I just start by stating that Virgil had NO MATES. He writes terrible poetry. His hateful text has caused nothing but woe, and we all would have been better off if he had never been born, in order that we might be saved from his diabolical similes, which are always utterly unsuitable and go on infinitely, every time he wrote one of those similes he just should have started a new book just for that one simile, but yet again I stress that it would have been even better if he had just never existed... So ye, expect for the Virgil everything went fine.

Wednesday - Maths and Art History

The worst ones so far... Math's was a train wreck, Art History not much better. I'd rather not talk about it...

Coming Soon - Chemistry and French

What I should be studying right now while I write this. Alright I'm going to go do that now. Bubye.

A Year in a Day

A year ago today my mum died. Things didn't feel like I imagined they would.

Our Summer Exam's started this morning with Irish, and I got through that very well; the questions all suited what study I had done, and I didn't freeze or anything disastrous like that. In fact, I think I may have written one of the best Irish exams of my life, and this thought put me in a good mood for the rest of the morning. I wasn't feeling sad at all. I knew what this day meant, but it didn't seem to matter: it was just another day after all. Having gone home after the exam to get a change of clothes and something to eat I headed into town to meet up with some friends to relax after the day's work. This was nice enough - strolling around the usual streets, lounging on the grass in Stephen's Green. But I didn't seem to be thinking on the same level as the other guys. I couldn't enjoy the conversation or take part in it. They were enjoying a beautiful summer's day in the park, albeit with exams just behind them and more again looming in front, but I wasn't there. Sure enough, it was all being replayed - the lonely, awkward feeling that no-one understands.

We headed back to a friend's house and was feeling pretty down. I stayed on for hours doing very little, probably putting off facing my own thoughts in some subconscious way. It wasn't until I was halfway home on the Luas that it all seemed to hit me.

I started to go over the moment I found out, something I used to do very often but hadn't done in a while before today. Being led into the office where my Dad and C were waiting. I remember the how utterly destroyed they looked. The sinking realisation of despair that exploded inside me that it was all over when he told me. Saying stupid things, stumbling in a daze down the corridor to find my bag so that I could get out. Balling my eyes out in the carpark as Cathy told me about what she had been through that awful day, which I still can't begin to imagine, it makes my mind go blank when I try to think about the feelings. It was all today, even everything afterwards, the detached feelings, the unbearable reality that life goes on, the sympathetic neighbours and the unconscious friends. A year today. A year in a day.

Later on I tried hanging out with my old road friends to see if they'd realise what I was going through. I didn't want to be alone. But they too didn't seem to get it, and it was a much more bitter blow with them. I felt so alienated. I got a lift home with my friend Dc even though it was hardly warranted, as I live no more than two minutes walks away from the person's house I was in. We dropped off N at his house, and once the doors were closed and it was just me and him, plain as you like Dc says "So how are you doing considering the day that's in it?". To be honest at first I didn't even know what he was talking about; he was the first one to say it out loud, and I had been resigned to the fact that no one was going to. It cheered me up somewhat to be able to talk about it a bit. Dc really is a great friend who's always there if you really need him. But it didn't stop me wondering: when it all happened a year ago it felt like I always had someone to talk to. Now it feels like there's no-one. But I know it's just because life has to continue, and I have to live with it. And there's no comfort in that. And there's nothing anyone can say.

Crazy Organ Lady Goes to Lapland

Sunday was not a good day.

My deranged piano teacher HG, who for those of you without the limitless pleasure of having made her acquaintance is a Canadian-Irish hypochondriac rodent-woman whose interests include sacred organ music, apple juice, endless talk about nothing, and endless talk about herself (but we love her for it... ahem), took me out piano shopping (yes, I say it as off-handedly as that) to Pianos Plus. Unfortunately Pianos Plus is situated in the dead-centre of the middle of fucking nowhere, and to reach it one has to navigate around the notorious 'Mad Cow Roundabout', as HG so comically called it, which manages to keep up the road quality and bumpiness of an off-road rally track while still retaining the disorientating charm of a labyrinth. Not too fun. And I was tired. And HG was exceptionally animated and self-obsessed. A recipe for disaster.

She just wouldn't shut up about her beloved Pipeworks organ festival, with whose organisation she is vaguely involved and in which she probably wasn't even asked to take part, but still horned in on on account of her unfaltering self-importance. And for the love of jesus I do not care, have never cared, and will never, ever care about anything that concerns your friend Dk.

HG, while at the wheel:"Oh gosh, I have a cut on my arm! Oh, it goes right the way round! I don't even remember how I got that! That's so annoying, eh? It's actually really sore".

Me, unable to contain my utter disinterest:"Oh, that's awful. You should put a bandage on that."

HG:"No, it's completely fine. I know, it's awful! The funny thing is I don't even remember how I got it you know? That's the worst... It's still quite painful though, I just know it's going to be bothering me all day!"

Me:"Well it doesn't really look too serious, it almost looks like it's healed already."

HG:"No but it's really very sore. Oh gosh, but it's just so FUNNY..."

Oh yeah? Is that funny? Do you know what else would be really FUNNY? If I shoved your pathetic child's carton of apple juice down your throat!! UGGHHHHH!!!!

And do you know what else was really funny? When HG finally listened to my directions after about an hour of driving around in circles, when we finally arrived at the godforsaken place, it turned out that it was closed for Sunday. Oh joy.

"Oh noooooo... that's just awful, eh? Oh, I'm terrible I really should have checked, I knew that it was open on a Saturday and I just presumed it would be on a Sunday too... This is just so annoying eh? I really thought it would be open, I really did, I should have rang to check though... Gosh, it's just so FUNNY though.."

Don't tempt me woman.

New Name

So I decided to change my name, and for no reason really, other than I hated the old one and thought it was stupid and everytime I looked at it I screamed inwardly with shame and thought to myself 'I would NEVER read a blog with the name *****i*** *****h* *a***** (I can't even bare to write it out again). Thankfully now I can look at the name with some degree of...well, mild indifference; but at least I will never again find myself recoiling from the sheer tear-your-own-skin-off embarrassment whenever I see it.

Nothing much else to say with this blog; I've been spending my days practicing the piano and trying to start studying which aren't topics writing on which I can really nail you to your seat; so why not make like me and feast your ears on a bih'ra Beethoven? Hopefully I'll be able to play it this well eventually.

On Depression

While I'm pretty sure I have never been depressed, taking the clinical usage of the word(I've thought about it, have had to think about it, have been very confused by it, and I'm almost completely certain), but I've suffered from the effects of depression for the most part of my life. Some of my oldest and most defined memories concern it, and I can say confidently that it has played a huge part in shaping the person who I have become.

People who have never experienced depression hands on can only assume it is an awful thing, and in one way they're completely spot on: it throws your whole perspective on life and relationships into confusion, puts unbelievable stress on any individual who has depression or knows someone who does, can be enraging at times, and tests you to your very limits of patience and understanding. It is terribly painful to face, the main reason why it is not spoken about publicly: some go so far as to say it is stigmatising (they're right).

I'd be willing to wager I have more understanding of, or at least have given more thought to depression than, say, most people in my year would have, but of course you can never really know what's going on behind closed doors, and so maybe we're all dealing with it, in one way or another. But why can't we know about it? Why can't it be discussed? It's extremely relevant in society today, figures will tell you, and the devastating effects that it can have should arguably provoke some public debate. What's with the big cover up people?

People don't mind talking about cancer do they? or diabetes?  'Manic depression' is now a recognised illness, and is treated by trained medical professionals where appropriate. So why all the taboo? The very existence of something as innately dangerous and threatening as depression is a big factor. The fact that it occurs at all raises serious questions about our understanding of human life, and the idea of the success of the western world (don't even get me started) - shouldn't we all be happy now? The idea that a naturally occurring tendency can become even more powerful than our need to procreate forces us to raise questions about any understanding of the meaning of life we might have within ourselves, something many people would rather just avoid, even when doing this comes at a horrible price.

I have half a mind that depression is not an 'illness' at all, it's just that to define it as one is so much more convenient than asking the questions that would crop up if that were untrue; after all, the fact that people who are medicated for depression experience even worse bouts of mania every time they go off the drugs suggests that we're not really treating it at all. I think it's not treatable; because it's just people (don't get me wrong; the drugs have there uses, but they do not cure mental 'illness'. fact.)

But I don't know enough about that to say anything for certain, it's just a thought. And now I gone and gone off the point, damnit. What I was trying to get to was that I think depression should be more openly discussed, especially among guys, who in my experience are worse for pretending it's nothing too serious, or that it's not there. I'm not saying people should shout it from the rooftops and make personalised t-shirts proclaiming their state of mind, but if you can't talk to your friends or your family, chances are you won't talk to anyone. 

Once or twice I've had reason to think that one of my friend's was suffering from depression, and that other friends weren't giving the thing the seriousness it deserved or didn't really know what to make of it. I wanted to talk to the person but they were extremely difficult to approach about it. I knew the person would definitely have seen it as personal weakness to admit to something as basically human as feeling sad. It made me feel terrible that I couldn't bring myself to just give them a hug and say 'I'm there for you', but I couldn't as long as the person remained so outwardly unfazed. And it fucking pisses me off that the situation can exist where someone feels they can't admit something like that, because of the shame or the stigma, the associations. 

This person seems to be ok now. I think the thing has sorted itself out for now at least, so they're in no danger. But if something were to happen again, I'd like to know that they wouldn't have doubts about telling someone what they're going through. That's all really.

God don't really want to end on a 'where is the love?' note but that's where it's heading, so I'm going to just leave it here. See'yall soon now!

Frustrated Artist

Every year for sports day my school holds an exhibition of all the students' art from that year. The fifth year art class are usually rounded up the day before to crop, mount and stick everything up all over the school, which means a lot of mitching for me. And that day was today. After pretending to be thoughtfully considering the placement of some truly abysmal and shite first year comic strips for half an hour, then eventually throwing most of them away and halfheartedly sticking up a few decent ones, I strolled around to look at the rest of work. 

It struck me that almost nothing of my own art was to be seen anywhere. Then, horribly, it struck me that I hadn't really done anything good this whole year. I felt nothing did me justice, anyway. That made me pretty sad. Art is something I love and I enjoy everything that it encompasses, from the little intricate pen doodles you do in class of teachers, to the beautiful feeling you get when you capture the humanity of a face you're sketching, to lashing red paint onto a big white sheet and letting it dribble all the way down. And it's something I think I'm pretty good at. Or could be pretty good at. And it sucks to feel like you're wasting your own potential, especially in something about which you care a lot.

My own lack of material was especially obvious beside the emerging ridiculous talent of some of the other guys in my class. One person in particular had done some absolutely awe-inspiring stuff that showed the skill and freedom of a professional artist - and this guy's in my class, in 5th year! He's so much more focused and his style is far more developed that mine, it's amazing. 

But I'm not trying to put this guy up on a pedestal or anything. In fact, I'm so glad that he did such great art because it's made me want to wake up and do myself as much justice as he's done to himself. His work has made me so jealous, it's sickening, and I'm pretty sure that feeling is shared by a lot of other guys in my class. It's the good side to competitiveness, where it urges you on to do better things for yourself and not just so you rub it in other peoples' faces.

All that said I still have to get up off my ass and do some art.......... Probably not going to start right now, so I'll set a goal for myself I think: by the end of Summer, I'm going to be back in the game.

P.S go read Kate's rant about competitiveness on her blog, it's hilarious and made me think of writing this blog (btw major thanks for Kate).

Boy Reads Great Book

Last Christmas I bought my sister C Stephen Fry's autobiography, 'Moab is my Washpot' (either haven't a clue what the title means or can't remember if it was mentioned in the book). In typical fashion she digested it in about 45 minutes, then stuffed it into a shelf somewhere to gather dust. I'm not a very big reader, and am definitely not a fan of non-fiction. Even 'The God Delusion' didn't stir me, a book many called 'unputdownable' and one I thought would be really fascinating, but I didn't even reach the halfway mark. So when I picked up 'Moab is my Washpot' it was because of vague interest in 'that guy off QI' rather than a belief that the story of his life would get through the fifty page test.

But I couldn't put it down. Fry writes extremely well and has a great sense of humour, always nudging the book's pace along in the same way you might do if you were having a very leisurely conversation with an old friend, probably after a few drinks though. His complete honesty when talking about himself is evident because after reading it you feel as if you've known him as a real person rather than as a t.v personality or general funny-man, and you mentally laugh and cry at all the right moments. And it doesn't hurt that his life makes for an extremely compelling story. But I wont ruin the plot on you.

Reading the book gave me a way stronger interest in the great man that is Stephen Fry, and by now I've seen loads of his comedy work for t.v, and his various documentaries, which are always informative, frank and excellently put-together, and I've just, right this very moment, found  out that he has his own blog (...here I take a break to read his blog...) which on first reading isn't what I'd hoped* when I initially saw that he had his own blog and nearly fell off my chair; but it's great nonetheless.

*never meet your heroes.

Let there be Light!

The Summer Exams are in two weeks and I'm dreading them, I'm playing in a feis tomorrow with a piece for which I have absolutely no love left and My bloody 18th still needs sorting out. This is more than enough crap to have me tearing my all my hair out from the strain. Normally, that is. But how could anyone sit inside weeping and feeling sorry for themselves, eating slice after slice of charleville cheddar cheese as I can sometimes be found doing in these times, when the weather has been so brilliant these last few days?

If anyone who is not from Ireland happens to be reading this, and that's being more than a bit optimistic on my part, you probably won't understand how much joy an Irish person feels when the weather is actually good for once. It just makes you want to go outside and take off all your clothes and scream 'I'm alive!'... While I haven't quite got to that stage yet, over the last few days I've at least tried to soak up as much of the sun as I can.

Monday was the best day - I was over at my friend Br's house for her 18th birthday, and it looked so nice outside some of us ended up heading out to Belgrave Square for a picnic. It was one of those lazy summer days that we only hear about over here; lying there on the grass in complete contentment, messing around doing cartwheels (well, I being an almighty sourpuss didn't manage to but some others did) and such. Everything seems to look better when it's sunny; the shapes that the shadows of trees make on the grass, the light glinting off a metal railing, even the people look more attractive. I think I could get used to this living, even if experience has taught me to watch the weather forecast and expect the worst. Still, I can hope...

There Ain't No Party Like Your Own Birthday Party

I'm going to be turning 18 at the end of this month. Against my better judgement I've decided to organize a reasonably-sized bash at my house to commemorate the occasion. I'll confess that it has me a bit nervous. Usually my birthday falls mercifully during the week of summer exams at the end of the school term, and that's the excuse I give to justify why I never have a birthday (everyone will be too busy with their nose in the books to have fun! oh well!) but the truth is, like a lot of people I think, I just hate having to organize my own party.

A simple question from a relative or friend can send me into a catatonic state from the pure terror: 'so, what are you doing for music?' ' fingerfood or a proper meal?' 'how many people are coming?'. Now that you mention it, I haven't thought about any of that, actually........ Oh god. What if people don't like my taste in music, they all stop 'movin-and groovin' and say 'let's get out of here man....' and I'm forever known as the guy whose 18th was completely shite. 

Do people like Digitalism? Queen? Justice? That funny song by The Rasmus? Am I that sad that I like anything by The Rasmus? What do you all want from me????

Dude, You Gotta Get Out More...

Have been having a great long weekend so far, feels like I'm emerging back out into the world after being shut away inside for too long.

Yesterday I went to the cinema for the first time in ages to see 21 with Cl. The first thing to say about this was that I really liked the soundtrack, which contained a lot of slow beats and trancesque songs and really suited the film, and is well worth checking out. The film itself does exactly what it says on the tin, ie. it's an average heist thriller complete with plenty of slick montages of Las Vegas and a thoroughly predictable twist at the end. That said I really enjoyed it, mainly because I'm one of those people on whom the novelty of going to cinema never seems to wear off, and the fact that I was there with Cl. I think there's something fundamentally pleasing about watching a film in the cinema; the epic presentation, the way it's so intimate and so communal at the same time; or maybe I'm just a guy who likes watching movies, who knows.

Today I met up with some friends that I hadn't seen in ages, A and C we'll call them for privacy's sake. Seeing old friends is a truly amazing feeling, especially when it feels as if no time has passed at all since you last spoke and you fall effortlessly back into getting on dandily. I also came into contact with a group of regular old nerd camp freaks, a body of people that once mixed in some of the same circles as me but now, thankfully, do not, and A and I were slagging and bitching about them just like old times, an experience which evoked fond memories of 2nd and 3rd year.

I feel like just saying "ahhhh......."

Dirty Sexy Long Weekend

The long weekend has arrived!  I'm so glad to have five whole days off from school to relax and finally purge my body of this f****** cough, people have stopped being sympathetic and are now pissed off and/or laughing at my incessant wheezing. I am in a really summerish mood which doesn't really reflect the weather at the moment (it's still cold, despite the sun) and I hope things pick up over the weekend so that I can have a bit of outdoors fun, I feel like I've spent the last six months stuck inside. If that doesn't happen, and this is more likely, I have plenty of back ups, films I want to see, friends I want to meet up with, and the like.

One time I'll definitely be staying indoors is tomorrow night for dirty sexy money, my new t.v fix. If you haven't heard of it or haven't had the chance to watch it it's something I'd definitely recommend. Nothing beats putting your feet up with a take-away and switching off to the ridiculously luxurious lifestyle of the Darlings, the family around which the whole thing revolves. The only problem.......it's on on a Friday night, which can be pretty inconvenient to say the least. Luckily this week I've designated the time to watch it with a my friend Cn, a dirty sexy money party even, if that doesn't sound too wrong. But if you fall into the box of people that tends to be busy around that time, I would suggest getting 4od, an online service set up by Channel 4 to allow you to download programs televised on Channel 4 or its subsidiaries on demand, for free, with no catches. It's helped me out of tight situations more than once I can tell you. Think I'll go browse it now and zone out in front of brothers and sisters or some shite... Enjoy the long weekend everybody, all two of you who read this!