Merry Christmas RanDummies and mighty blogaruu readers! Hope you are still getting your turkey sweats on. While you do, why not enjoy this piece which I wrote for an Irish paper recently. Pants off. Trifle. On!
A Hollywood Christmess Story
Is that Slash? Hmm. Is he looking at me? Hmm. Not sure. Is it him? Is he real? Am I drunk? What’s going on? Hmm. I’m going back for a kip.
Next morn. Stephen’s Day. Boxing Day? Not sure what they call it here in L.A. Eyes open. I’m on a couch at Robbie Williams’ house. Awake. Alone. Alive. Stiff back. Slept awkwardly. No sign of Slash. No sign of anyone. All left. Or upstairs. Sleeping. Sensible folk. Unlike me and my dry mouth. Tastes like glue. And so this is Christmas. Continue Reading »
“Oh God. Why am I holding this man’s hand?” ’Twas the night before Christmas Eve and all was… Dead. First Christmas away from home. Away from the family. Away from my Mum’s mighty Christmas dinner. Aww. Poor little Merrick. Woe is me. All week I’ve been constantly asked, “Will you not miss going home to Ireland for it?” “Well, it would be preferred, but I’ll just have to make do.” Making sure to add, “And besides… In this economy? Hm.” That part usually confuses them enough to ask no more. Besides, I’m sure Cork will miss me just as much. Only the other day did a buddy Diane tell me, “Oh, eh, yeah. Christmas just won’t be the same if you’re not here. Like Disneyland without Mickey Mouse, so it will.”
So that was nice. Being compared to a mouse. Mighty. Anyway, last night I did the 12 Pubs of Christmas. Woke up this morning. Still full to the brim with Christmas cheer. Plan was to go to Charlotte’s for Christmas dinner. First, mass. Must go to Catholic Mass on Christmas Day, my Mum would kill me if she found out I didn’t! As it happens, two churches right around the corner from me. Go on the Google Maps. Hop out of bed. Bounce off a wall. Christmas clothes on. Scuttle around the corner. Blessed myself going into church. Found a seat. Sat down. Kneeled down. Stood up. Realised everyone else was still kneeling. Back down. Spaced out. Joined in. Humming prayers. Head spinning slightly. Saw a sign on the wall: Continue Reading »
Very sad day. Just took down my Christmas tree. Meant to do it last weekend but I couldn’t bear the thought/too lazy. Now it’s down. Meaning Christmas is over. Done. Dusted. Out. Buried. No more. Hard to take. Although the thing is:
Does Christmas ever even start in LA?
Not at all.
Week leading up to Christmas: No buzz. At all. Few places had decorations up, of course. Shops were plumping and pimping out Christmas deals. But all felt fake. Selling. As opposed to cheerful. Plus, I too was working a good bit – Book on – so it kept my mind off the cold, hardened, heathen, non-Christmas buzz in the air. People don’t even say ‘Happy Christmas’ here. It’s all ‘Happy Holidays!’ Just in case you somehow offend someone? Funk. That. Christmas. On! Ye whures.
Pint Per Pub. Shots Encouraged, But Purely Optional...
As always, 12 Pubs of Christmas held high hopes for kicking the Christmas buzz into gear. As always, initial responses to the mighty pub crawl were lukewarm/confused/uninterested/horrendous. Mighty. Thankfully, closer to the day, a group formed, Christmas jumpers were purchased, and the crawl was on. (Either way I was going on it but always nicer to have others in dodgy Christmas jumpers join you on your way.)
That was a good hoot at least. Quite and polite at first. Chug and chug at second. Warming up at third. Banter at fourth. And people out of their shells at five. As always, one quiet guy in the group burst out of his shell with a demonic smile. Hilarious guy who I know only as Dave. Don’t remember much about him. Just that Continue Reading »
Routines. Can be a dose. Trudging through drudgery. Recycling days. Waiting until they run out. Hogs grounding to a halt. Slowly but surely. Work. Dinner. TV. Sleep. Unless, of course, you like your work, I imagine it’s a bit of a dose, to be true. On the other hand, having no routine whatsoever, can also be a bit of a dose. Too much free time. Too much to do. Too much freedom. All of which. Seems to be making me quite dumb. Err. Making me highly interested in innocuous events. Such as. Buying a new type of soap. Not sure which kind. Just soap. However. Now. Every time I walk into my bathroom. My eyes water up. Pepper sprayed. Making me fall to my knees. And puke. Only stopping when I eventually manage to crawl back out of the bathroom. Leaving the soap behind. Well, maybe only one of those things happen. Still though. The fact that that scenario has played out in my head, did make me realise that freedumb might have taken over my mind. Trying to decide if that’s now a good or bad thing. Continue Reading »
Horrendous is the best word I could use to describe the response for the 12 pubs of Christmas. Calling a spade a shovel, there was close to zero interest. Maybe I should’ve explained the concept more when I was sending out the rallying cry. One person thought it was just a spam email. Even after reading it. Didn’t get it. Well done. A lot of people were out of town for Christmas. And a few girls replied saying they’d love to meet for a drink. Sounds lovely. A nice quiet drink. Just the two of us. I don’t even think they read the email. Quiet drink… 12 pubs? Just the two of us… what part of ‘the more the merrier’ was lost in translation? In the end, numbers were down and out. There was my buddy Sharlotta. And there was I. Instead of me having a Royal Rumble type affair with 12 different dates, we went with just picking up stragglers along the way. Continue Reading »