Tag Archives: Ireland

Red Or White?

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I shall not lie, over the past few days I was unsure if the 100th mark would be reached, never mind broken. However, I have decided to prove myself wrong, and write on! The reason for this uncertainty, initially, was due to me being unsure how long more I could stay in America for, on this current visa. With under 2 weeks left on the visa, I was weighing up another spring break trip to Mexico or Canada. My episode was good to go, being passed around, I was heading back to L.A in order to get a scene or two made, I had even been contacted about the possibility of meeting with a fairly reputable manager. Again, that sort of stuff is hearsay in my book until it happens, can only count on yourself really but worth looking into at least. Still, if it all went to plan, a quick spring break and back again, somehow, to keep the ball rolling.

Sadly, my Gran passed away this week back in Ireland, so that changed things even further. I was getting ready to go to the airport yesterday, packing my bags, and not knowing if I was L.A or Ireland bound. Managed to get a flight back in time for the funeral tomorrow, so instead of heading back to L.A for 10 days or so, bizarrely, and fairly surreal being honest, I am now back in Ireland for a few weeks. All happened fairly quickly, but no time to mull it over. Now, I shall just have to find a way to go back out there in 3 weeks, and make more than the 2 scenes I had planned for next week. Instead, I shall make a shorter version of the entire episode, start to finish if I can, must turn it into a plus! This now will be my visa trip as well. 

Just in the door and highly jet lagged, so decided to write on in hope to bore myself enough to fall asleep. I managed to lift my mental block of thinking that I could only write when in L.A, seeing as I managed to get a fair bit done in San Fran. Now the tougher test, can I pull fodder out of the bag for Cork and Ireland while I am back. I have the faith, in quantity, if not quality, at least! There shall be no whining or complaining about being back either, I miss L.A and all that. Put a cork in it (oh Jesus) and deal with it. Stage 1 has been completed, now plough on! Things can be worked on from here too while I’m back.

Although, I did forget that it was no longer L.A, or even America, that I was in, where the dress code is carte blanche. This was when I noticed bizarre items such as a hat (a hat?!) or a scarf (a scarf, oh my God, what an insane thing to wear!) get too many strange looks. Or maybe its that mullets are no longer as cool here as before. That statement is highly doubtful though.

The trip home, compared to previous airport adventures, was highly uneventful. There were no elaborate searches, terminal chases, mishaps or misunderstandings. I did, however, realize what my biggest fear is, just before boarding a long haul flight. And that, justifiably so I do believe, is the fear that my iPod will freeze just as I get onto the plane. And stay frozen until the battery dies. Which would be at least 12 hours. More than the flight. What a dose that would be. Obviously far worse could happen, but still, that would be highly annoying. Don’t mean to sound insensitive with the recent crash and all, but as we were taking off, I realized that was all my warped mind was worried about.

In fairness though, if I had no music, I would’ve been entertained by my new 4’2 (I think), Jordanian friend, Leen, who I sat next to on the plane. Or Gordanian as I liked to call it. Or Michael Jordan as I also liked to mistake it for. The jokes were flying out, it was a long, looong flight for her. I also used tried out my new truth line… I’m a writer -“Oh yeah, what do you write?” – A blog, ha… which went down well. So did her joke of… Yeah, I’m a terrorist, undercover sorority girl… so it was a hilarious flight home. I played two songs off the top of my head too, Lean Back, and Come On Eileen, which were received with two pitiful shakes of her head. Overall, a mighty flight! Especially, especially, seeing as I now have a joke to tell in Arabic (phonetically speaking)… Esh byakol hsaan looti? Hasheeeeeeeesh!!! (Say the punch line in a West Hollywood accent and you might be able to guess it).

Two things that did manage to put a pep in my step in the past hour… 1. My brother telling me that people who we might not have met before or seen in years, were blatantly showing him their disappointment, when he told them he wasn’t me when asked earlier at the removal, ha. Appears I have a Joe Dolan type of fan base building up. And 2. This song for some reason, which was used before but funk it, recycle on…

All My Friends by LCD Soundsystem

I Deserve A Medley

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Apologies for anyone left high and dry without their daily dosage of the blog for the past day or two. Well, to that one person who asked where they were. The sitcom episode is coming together, but with my brain being used for that at full capacity, it could not cope doing both. However, over the past few days, one might say a medley of stories have occurred. So I’ll now string a few together, starting with the most important.

First random bit of useless info. A while back, I mentioned that one search that someone (or people) used to find the blog was something related to gay rape in a gym, or along those lines. Recently, “Do chicken have teeth?” was somehow, no clue at all as to how, but somehow, used as a search to get to my blogaduu. Pre-tty weird.

On my way to the gym on Friday I tried in vain to think of any possible connection of how this might be linked to the blog. Still didn’t get to figure it out. However, I did get to see a big gang fight happen. And by big gang fight, I mean two big gangs, being tough, talking about fighting, but not actually fighting. Like most fights really. Not like how Jack and Sawyer fought in the last episode of Lost, with the realistic punch effects. This was proper fighting, with little to no punches being thrown. 

While observing this tough gang fight, I noticed the homeless couple I had seen the day before. Once again, they were sitting against a wall, on the side of a street, and, once again, they were at it, hammer style. However, there was a difference this time. When the homeless woman got up and left her spot to get a better view of the fight. I noticed this, but also, that the hammer kept on hammering. By who, I wondered. Ah, thats right, obviously, by the dude. Sitting on the side of the street, with his hammer in his hand, covered, but still, doing a D.I.Y job, on his own. Once again, in the light of evening. Watching the fight, and, seemingly, getting off on it. All feelings of empathy were immediately lost. Like Bonnie, he was not the same without his woman. Now he was just a weird, blue balled, bald, homeless dude.

Unfortunately, he was not the only weird, blue balled, bald dude that I encountered that evening. In the gym, a regular nutter, some old, weird, bald, gay, creepy dude, once again started asking me if I do much work on my legs, could I recommend anything for his legs, or show him some exercises? These chicken things? No. And, no. When he left, probably the only other person younger than 37 in the gym, a quite pleasant looking girl, told me he chats her up as well. We bonded over baldy, blue balled weirdo! Turns out I was wrong too, well kind of. Still, I shouldn’t have presumed. He wasn’t gay. Actually, he was bi, seeing as he told the girl that, while also revealing to her that he likes to wear a wig at times, one similar to her own hair style! A great chat up line if ever I’ve heard one. Ha, funking nut. We bonded well over him. However, once the conversation drifted to any other topic, we lost the connection. Blue balled and bald, or nothing.

Skip forward to tonight (final gym and homeless related story). While walking back from the gym, I noticed a new homeless guy, who was not there on my way to the gym. And the reason I knew this, for a fact, was that he had managed to get a massive kings sized bed set up on the path for himself. It was huge, bigger than any bed I have ever slept in. How he got it there, I have no clue. He asked for a dollar, so I gave him all my money, a few quarters, purely for having that bed. On a footpath. It was highly impressive. When I remarked this to him, he offered me a seat, try it out, lie down man, it is a nice bed. 

Just as I started to bend my knees, and take him up on his offer, I somehow managed to stop myself. I got the feeling if I sat or lay down with him on the bed, I might never get up. The next few years of my life would’ve been mapped out. Lugging that bed around with him, street to street, living the high life. That can wait until I’m retired, work to be done first.

I’ll finish off with the reason, that I think, maybe I should be given a medal. Earlier today, I went to my first rugby match, USA against Ireland. Being patriotic, however, should not be the reason for maybe getting a medal. Can’t beat a day in the sun. Swimming amongst all the factor 60. Or else a nice, dangerously rare – steak wise – looking shade of pink. No, the reason I may deserve a medal, is that I stayed until the end, ha. Sweet Lord. First and last has a nice ring to it really.

Two songs, for all the factor 60 and pink armed fans earlier today… 

Psychic City by Yacht

And, Wild Thing (Remix) by Tone-Loc and Peaches

p.s I think I now have a bit of sun stroke. Should’ve put on some of that factor 60. Clever rugby folk.