September 9, 2010
RTE have not uploaded access outside Ireland to the Freefall series. From what I gathered about the first one, it was much avert thy gaze and blithering. Still would like to see it. In the meantime Prime Time have a cheery report on the disaster in the bonds market and ongoing FF scuppering. Also, I note a return to the new version of the CE scheme where you work 19 hours just for your dole?! As opposed to 20 hours for a third more than your dole.Human Inflation? The talking heads at the dole office were great, pointing out what the govt appears to miss that er, people want to work there’s no jobs for them! thanks to the great blow, swindle and economic toilet flush.
September 8, 2010
First day back, already calling in the favours…
Am not quite sure how I am going to get done all the work I have on between now and the Sept 25, but the one constant that I have to return to every day is the need for the physical. Gymnastics recommences on Weds. We had a one week break and this will be felt painfully in the shoulders and much more joyfully in the brain. Tonight we hit the swimming pool, I am determined with the swimming mission, and who knows maybe, just maybe I could be making progress. Had a v interesting chat with a short woman, with v impressive shoulders, in the hot tub who told me her daughter is a major ballerina and then described the injuries they sustain. Jeepers! Most importantly my son needs to have fun, so tonight we carried on reading our Letters from a nut book to considerable laughter. They are getting repetitious but we continue to delight in many of them and laugh aplenty. The last book I think we had this much giggling over may have been The Edmonton stories book which included the mighty Toonerville Trolley saga and enamoured me ever more to Edmonton, a place I’ve never set foot.
The trouble with being busy is my thoughts need longer than most to ferment. They tend to do barn dances around the world before they settle on a particular tract. I also will not have time to pay attention to post boxes, which is disappointing. I will be like some of these characters who annoy me in Vancouver in the bakery, so pressed for time, they cannot acknowledge the person behind the counter as a human being with stories to share.
The other day I was quite appalled by a woman, on a bank holiday no less, cranking and hussling beside me because the gal behind the counter was telling me about a deck she was building with her mother. Heck the woman, a twenty year old, is building a deck! How magnificent ! And you cannot afford 30 seconds to hear her out and now with your impatience you’ll prohibit me from hearing the mighty details on the deck building. Blimey this neophyte but accomplished shelf builder certainly wanted to hear tales of waving 2 x 4’s (is that what they are called, I don’t have time God darn it to look it up), I am truly astonished at people building things. And the silly thing is whenever I have a problem I often get it fixed by those women in the bakery. One time my cooker blew its fuse and one of the women there instructed me perfectly how to find and replace the thing. Another time when I fell over pretty badly, lo and behold another woman who worked there had fallen in the exact same spot quite far from said bakery — how welcome was that, someone who knew precisely where I’d tumbled and had taken the identical tumble!
I’m being hailed.
September 7, 2010
I usually nail it when it comes to comedy and my son. We share a similar sense of humour. The other day I scooped a book from the side of the road. The title was: Letters to a nut by Ted L Nancy.
We cracked the book this evening and within a page or two (letters) my eyes were blurred with tears of laughter and I had to take my glasses off. We read on and cracked up further. Finally I laughed so much I had a serious pain in my belly and had to interrupt the read aloud to go and cook the small male a hunk of bison.
It’s the first time I’ve cooked bison and the packet warned not to over cook it.
The small male was also delighted by 20 copies of T H P Orchestra’s 45 rpm 1977 Canadian disco hit and attempted convene one of the twenty with a bashed up plastic blue kids record player I bought on Main Street for a dollar two months back and surprised him with to a degree of scorn. Unfortunately said record player does not work, but clearly the influence of Ted. L. Nancy and T H P Orchestra inspired. We realized we had sound, this was amazing, we had never had sound. We did not have motion but we did now have a record. (a 45 rpm)
Unfortunately I had to abandon the bison to attend to the excitement of the small blue record player. There was some disagreement over who should regard the bison and who the record player, but we continued ensemble with the record player. Lo and behold a surgical operation of unscrewing and examination was performed. The poor old undercarriage of the record player looked like it had been dropped out of a plane, but there was a suspiciously isolated spring that I persuaded the small male to reattach. We added power and we had a new hum of a motor!
Unfortunately the bison, long forgotten, was now sealed in a most inappropriate manner to cast iron, but we were at such a tentative moment in record player repair I dispatched the small male to stab the bison and turn it off. Another part discovered in the undercarriage was nominated as a possible needle. It did not look promising but eventually a wedge, poke, prod, forced snap, and deep breath gave a bit of an old scuzzly noise and the excitement mounted.
It was nothing short of a miraculous smile that came over the pair of us as the blue machine moved and needle was placed and an extremely slow and droning version of said 70’s pop song began. The singer sounded like his tongue was being tied up with dental floss and his arms were being forced on two tractors.
I then informed the small male that we had twenty copies of the same record that we could play forever on a continuous cycle of identical droning. He was thrilled. The bison was less than splendid, but we concluded we now bring in the ace talents of our resident kinetic sculptor/ motor-man extraordinaire Jeremy and all will be well.
We returned to letters to a nut. I’ve noted a pre-emptive disabling amount of laughter on announcing the addressee of the letter and a few words extracted in anticipation of what the letter may promise. I cried so much I looked like I’d been to a funeral. I never anticipated how much laughter I would share with my son and as he ages he has a wonderful habit of reliving funny conversations and exchanges and stories. I especially enjoy when he regales me with other peoples stories of laughter, stories we may hear or collect in passing. He’s a gas man, as they say in the Motherland. My ma sent me a text recently: she said she often thinks of the things he said in Mayo and smiles. I think he may have weighed in with strong opinions on effective farming based on the urban Vancouver model.
I’ve been also laughing a great deal working and collaborating with Lori on our performance art piece.
September 7, 2010
I am friends with people — specifically a woman — who bought their first record in 1975, age 4. Que? Comment? Oh the inadequacy. I was unable to make such a life affirming purchase until 1982. A late bloomer. I cannot count my mother’s purchase of The Pope’s Visit to Knock, despite its demanding rock n roll quality upon the papal touchdown.
When did you buy your first record or song on itunes if that’s your generation or 78rpm?
Another record tale of some inadequacy is that my mother actually borrowed the sleeve of Culture Club’s 2nd album for me from a woman who had the record. I had the record sleeve for quite a while and gazed upon it fondly moins record. But I recall the delight when she pulled it out of the boot of the car. With hindsight it was a tremendous gesture on her behalf to seek it out for me.
We used to record songs on tapes of the radio, later on in more savvy musico years we devoured John Peel’s sessions and taped them and taped over them.
September 7, 2010
Will the genetic code give any clue why I cannot swim? Or perhaps shed light on crooked politicians and the invention of NAMA? Or the high consumption of kitkats in Longford bus station? And quantity of shopping trolleys in the Baggot Street canal?
September 6, 2010
1991 parkour
Some of the young guys and gals at gymnastics do what’s called Parkour (I thought they were saying Parky, but that just gave me Parkinson interviews).
This vid is as interesting for the landscape behind the movement, as the movements. And then there is the wobbly goalpost.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C0gizZtVSEY&fs=1&hl=en_GB]
September 6, 2010
The lifeguard hailed me at the swimming pool yesterday to tell me I was not breathing. He demonstrated what I was doing and I agreed with his description of my lungs. It was very generous of him to offer these helpful hints, he told me a few other things to do. I tried to do what he suggested and took in galloons of water and visions of drowning came up to greet me in the shallow end.
I reported back that I was unable to do what he proposed and we discussed the adult brain briefly in relation to swimming.
Then we started discussing gymnastics and I proposed he take up the sport.
Alas, I am not sure that my 454th attempt at learning to swim from next week will be a fruitful one. I was very confident watching the swimming instruction video, but once head hits water the chemistry changes drastically. I wonder if some are simply not born to swim, but instead to stand on their hands.