Trust Tommy

Preab san Ól, the song I talked about yesterday, tries to tell us to spend all our money on drink because ‘we can’t take it to the grave’. While we perhaps shouldn’t go that far, I think it has a point. Actually it doesn’t, but it’s not a bad sentiment.

The truth is, people are becoming too uptight. Yes, I know we’re in a recession and all that ‘tightening our belts’ malarkey, but I honestly think people take things too seriously.

The biggest danger I run into with this post is sounding like some brainless person who’ll never work an honest day in his life – too busy partying.

Photo owned by worak (cc)

Now, there are totally times when one should be serious and stop and think about things, but I think we do that a bit too much.

I read so many angsty blogposts about people lamenting lost opportunities – as college-party-animal as if sounds, life’s all about throwing yourself into the fray. I didn’t much think about singing in Music yesterday, and I’m totally glad I didn’t. If you stop and think about things for too long, opportunities slip away.

When I talk about jumping into the fray, I don’t mean taking stupid risks – but non-stupid risks (they totally exist) are cool, and encouraged. Would Auctomatic have got so far had people just sat around drinking endless frappachinos and mochas and mochachinos? Well, OK, I’m sure a lot of thinking went into Auctomatic, but a lot of doing did too – and I’m sure Patrick and John and Harj and Kul would be able to tell you which did more – thinking stuff through or getting stuff done!

Photo owned by virtually_supine (still catching up – not well) (cc)

Maybe that’s what you should take from this. Like practically everything in life, a balance is required. Doing is as important as thinking. Doing without thinking is only bad when you end up doing a bad thing :P

The old phrase ‘Success results from 1% inspiration, 99% perspiration’ or ‘paralysis from analysis’ back up my point exactly. If you’ve got a good idea, run with it and work out the finer points while you’re working. Better to be scolded for not thinking something through then to sit on your ass all day working every little detail out.

So, don’t think too deep :)

In Music, we’re currently making notes on the set songs for our Junior Cert. So far, we’ve done Preab san Ól, an Irish Drinking Song preaching to us to spend all our money now on drink, cos we can’t take any of it to the grave. Marks for being technically true..

The second one that we’ve done is Muss i Denn, a German folk song made famous by none other than Elvis Presley, in the form of Wooden Heart. Funnily enough, the original song is a lament about a man leaving his lover. There’s not a mention of this in Elvis’ one. Just a bit of whining about not being Pinocchio.

Why is that funnily enough? I don’t know.

Our third one (and my current favourite) is Streets of London by Ralph McTell. It was also the first one I’d heard of before. Just as well.

The teacher played it for us on piano too. “Anyone wanna try singing it?” she asks. A girl volunteers. She performs it admirably. “Any guys?” One from the back does so, again quite good. “Any other boys?”

“Tommy!” pipes up my friend beside me. Thank you, Théo… “Errrrr, ok” I mumble. Yes, I’m outgoing, yes, I’ve no problem talking in front of large groups of people. Singing in front of 30 people is a first though. Yes, I used to perform Norwegian Wood with Dad whenever my folks had friends over, but who honestly is self-conscious when they’re 6?

But I got through it. The first verse flew by, and just as I was looking forward to everybody joining in for the chorus (as had happened with previous performers) when the teacher goes “stay going for the chorus!”. Eeeep.

Ah well. I got through it and nobody hated it. An interesting experience nonetheless.

Before anyone asks (looking at you, Patrick), no, there will be no repeat performances. Not without copious amounts of alcohol on one or both of our parts

I was asked in the comments of my previous post about my thoughts on the Lisbon Treaty.

That’s two guys putting up No posters on a flyover near to my house. Just two guys in a Ford Transit park on a bridge, hop out and affix the posters either side of the bridge and drive off, presumably to their next spot. I stopped to watch them for a while and saw one of the guys actually hop over the barrier onto the little foot-wide space to tie the zip-tie thing. I’m not that scared of heights but the thought of nothing in the war of a barrier between me and a motor way scares me somewhat.

As for the actual voting, I would vote Yes were I able to vote. The problem is I don’t actually know all that much about Lisbon itself. I probably shouldn’t even be blogging out this because it’s such a massive can of worms.

Wikipedia has an article but that’s confusing me more. Writing this post really has opened my mind about how little I know about it all. I know that the naysayers think our neutrality would be challenged but the Yes folk says that’s not a problem. I really don’t know, and this post is becoming shockingly rambly. Shame on me

On another note, the local primary school (well, one of them, we have two) is totally everything I associate with voting on stuff. Elections and Lisbon 1.0 were voted upon there and (I imagine) Lisbon 2.0 will be done the same way. I didn’t go to that particular primary school (went to the other local one) so my view of it is purely going through the big red door, turn the corner and into room 18, polling station 1. It was the same when we lived in Tipperary – the other local primary school was the ‘election place’.

So, 310 words later, you know I’d vote Yes, but I’m not sure why

If you were in America last night, and didn’t watch the premier of Season 6 of House M.D, shame on you! I was at home slaving over Maths homework and trying to find AA batteries to get the Flip! camera working when I could’ve been indulging in 2 hours of Housey house, while you had the option and resources to watch it but didn’t. What the hell, man?

I’m about to go watch it – as soon as I finish this post, actually. I was originally going to make notes as I watched it and stick a big Spoiler Warning picture up top to warn those of you waiting for it to come to Irish screens (I’d be out celebrating my 18th by that time, I imagine). But then it was pointed out to me about that wouldn’t work well enough for those reading me via RSS. Instead, I’ll talk about how myself and Greg met.

It’d be a lie to say that he hasn’t influenced me. Let’s just get that out into the clear first and foremost. I will admit though then my physio (disclaimer: who knew nothing about my affection for the grizzled doctor) told me about someone with CP climbing Kilimanjaro using hiking poles, suggesting something similar for me, I totally had House in mind when I asked for something less out-of-the-ordinary ‘…like a walking stick…?’

And so we went to the local medical supply story: Argos, and bought a 15 euro collapsible cane. That was Aislinn 1, named so after the Kildare Blogger who names her instruments and named one Tommy (no significance) which led to all sorts of hilariously confusing tweets and blogs, so this was my way of getting back at her.

Photo owned by marissabracke (cc)

That one lasted a few weeks before the top ceremoniously snapped off. Got a second one free because it was a design fault on their part.

At my yearly analysis, where they prod me and poke me and stick sensors on me to gauge my walking ability, I was told to get a new cane because being collapsable made it less strong. I didn’t need much encouragement. I finally had a concrete, medical (sounding, at least) excuse to get a House replica cane. At the time I paid a silly amount of money for it, because I knew no-one living in America who was coming home soon, so I had to get it shipped to Limerick.

The downside to not being collapsable and therefore adjustable is that I will eventually grow out of Aislinn 3, who’s affectionately called Flameycane by some. (A2 was the one I got free from Argos from A1 being shoddy) and shall have to get Aislinn 4. Luckily, A4 will be about 50 dollars less expensive because it can be shipped to John in Harvard.

Photo owned by caricaturas (cc)

How did I get into House itself?

That can be attributed to Patrick. He found it online and watched it and many a time I’d come home from school to see him and Liv watching House pull a tapeworm from a woman’s stomach or whatever. One of the times around that point we (the family) was invited to dinner, and the host was an aficionado of the series, possessing seasons 1 to 3 (this was 2007, they were the only ones out at the time), which we promtly borrowed

I was wondering this at the wedding. Once I’ve gotten over my sense of nationalistic nostalgia, I’ll attempt to think it out and answer. :)

As the botox of the good years has well and truly worn off, we find ourselves in a very grey humor, not unlike the weather outside. That clashes directly with the most popular stereotype of the Irish – that we’re genial, happy people.

St. Patrick’s Day is no longer Irish. Millions of people celebrate it each year. It’s no longer confined to Dublin, Limerick and Cork, it’s spread to New York and San Francisco and far-away places like that. They even turned the river in Chicago green!

Photo owned by divemasterking2000 (cc)

Then again, it’s no longer about saints either, I think, taking a sip of Guinness. What, is it not March yet?

Is St. Patrick’s Day still a celebration of Irishness, or does national pride still exist? This blogger is inclined to say no. Why? Well, did anyone notice how I spelt ‘humor’ in paragraph two? Bleh, how Americanized. Oops, I did it again.

We used to be the underdogs. The immigrants, the workers, but then we historically gained our independence, joined Europe and became a thriving and successful. We didn’t fix our roads though. Before you could say ABBA, we were rolling in Money, Money, Money.

Have we lost our identities in the bottom of our frappachinos and nespressos, or whatever it is Patrick drinks these days?

If we were defined by our stereotypes, we’d all be alchos called Paddy, who, in the words of Dylan Moran, would paint your house, but may steal your ladder while they do it. We’d go around saying things like ‘How’s she cutting?’ and ‘would you like a cup of tea, Father?’ We’d have 20 brothers and sisters, all living in two rooms with the family goat. (The kids today wouldn’t believe you). We’d be the good Catholics, the jumper loving Irishmen and women who’d never say no to a bit of work or a ham sandwich.

In my opinion, the best displays of Irishness is when we go on holiday. Talking to my debating teacher last year, she mentioned how her husband always went to an Irish pub when they went on summer holidays, just ‘…to see if it tastes better over here..’, no matter how more expensive it was. We hang flags off apartment balconies in Costa Brava, check match scores we usually wouldn’t give a toss about and speak Irish, half the reason being to show off that we can (a fact we’d never admit back home) and half to comment on the BO of the man in the subway without getting punched.

Photo owned by divemasterking2000 (cc)

Perhaps, next St. Patrick’s Day, as we suck on our mint Shamrock Shakes (I’ll bet you anything, right now, that John will come home from Harvard to do this specially) we can be proud of our heritage. We’ve come a long way, as the ad on TV says, from boom bust to bust boom, from tightening our belts to loosening them.

Let’s be just a wee bit proud of ourselves :-)