Propped against a brass statue of Oliver ‘sin-gin’ Gogarty it’s nearing one o’clock. My brother, who I’ll name Jack for this purpose, because Jack is his name, has the soap box out and is blasting away on the current economic state of affairs while dad steadies himself on his feet and mutters something about Robbie Keane with a blast of ‘come on Ireland’.

‘How much for a pint? six fuckin sixty???….’

‘It is not!’

‘It pure fuckin’ is….’

There’s a bird in the corner of the room, everyone knows the type loud, giggly and outrageously flirty with anything within arm shot. Goes out on a Wednesday night wearing a mini skirt, strappy top that she is falling out of, Ugg boots (‘because I’m NOT trying to pull’) with the token frumpy friend who really is just out to get pissed because the world is against her. Men are flocking around the peroxide beaut’ with bigger roots than a grand oak….

‘see what you have to realise is, it’s these spoiled brats, the silver spoon brigade that are gonna have to wake up and realise… are are you listening to me….’

‘…wha? No. Here look at this piece over in the corner…..’

‘…ten a penny…’

Dad just wants to talk about football. He senses there will be blood spilled if Jack continues the way he’s going. Probably mine.

‘isn’t it amazing how a girl like THAT can look half decent if you stick her in a place like THIS surrounded by 60 blokes and after 5 pints….’ The mouth of experience exclaims

‘COME ON IRELAND’

‘would ya pipe down dad’

I’m already regretting taking so much whiskey out of the hip flask at the game. I’m not a whiskey drinker.

‘would ya put away that phone…’

You can see the old boy is workin his way up to telling a joke we’ve already heard.

‘…did you hear about the two Dublin rats called Whacker and Stinky…’

‘oh for Christ sakes I’m after betting Jack a score you’d try tell that one again tonight…’

Oliver is propping me up more now that the ratio of blood to alcohol is nearing the same. I am enjoying annoying Jack for the hell of it, had this been a stranger, one of us would be laying flat out, probably me.

I must be pissed. I just text Jack by accident.

Fresh air seems to have made me worse. Jack has put his arm around me in a headlock and is pointing over to Abrakebabra as if the star of David is shining like a beacon above it…

‘she’s open!’

Jack is trying to convert dad to the world of Taco-Fries but he’s decided against it. Granted it took him half the box to realise he didn’t want them.

‘Granted I will give you they LOOK like pure dog-shit but what a feast!’ Jack has thrown 2 boxes into his face.

I’ve eaten one of the dodgiest kebabs of a lifetime. There’s a girl beside us in floods of tears with her friend. All dolled up with black running down her face and her shoes sat on the table beside her extra value quarter pounder meal with portion of barbeque sauce. It’s about a fella.

I’m on my way out the door and I say in a nice gentle tone:

‘ah lads don’t be so upset over a bloke, not when you have such lovely shoes…’

‘would you ever just go and fuck off and fuck yourself’ – she wails like the banshee Quasimodo lookalike that the silly tart is….

‘It just goes to show ya …’ says dad

‘….ten a penny….’ Jack says as he clips me around the back of the head thoroughly enjoying what just happened.

We’re at the taxi rank and Jack is showing me his recession trick where he waves a twenty note under the nose of a driver who’s been waiting at the rank for the past 14 hours and says

‘for the three of us to Swords…wha??’

We bail into a taxi with a lovely man from Nigeria. Jack is as smug as a pup who just ate two king size taco fries and doesn’t have to get up for work in the morning.

I’m smugger and have the last laugh cause I know for fact that it’s only 13 quid back to Swords. I say nothing. The dick.

Oh and there was a football game as well. Ireland beat Georgia 2- 1.

Aww ! Who’s the mother with her young son and daughter one might ask? Ne’er a sight of the father one might say? The tyke on the left IS the poxy father! Aged 13 he is the a brand new daddy of 4 day old Maisie.

“I didn’t think about how we would afford it. I don’t really get pocket money. My dad sometimes gives me £10.”

Am i the ONLY one who thinks this is just crazy??? I know half ya’ll are thinkin fair play to the skin for dippin the wick so young wha’

What were you up to when you were 13?

Full Story

I kick off my shoes and playfully push them aside, mostly to make you feel comfortable, I want to seem relaxed but not too eager. It’s impossible to not feel like a proper seductress when you walk on front of a stranger up a stairs leading them to the bedroom, you can feel the eyes burning into your arse and you’re glad you wore the Diesel jeans, you don’t want them thinking your cheap or desperate for cash. They stumble on one of the steps behind you and I grin quietly to myself. The landing light is one of those new power saving jobbies and hasn’t lit up fully and it’s eerily dark and you hope it’s not a deal breaker because the place now looks like the basement of Miss Fantasias. But to be honest, after meeting face to face now after talking over the phone a few times, maybe the soft lighting is doing them a few favours…

‘You don’t smoke do you?’ I ask

‘No no, eh I used to smoke but I’m really into the gym now and eh…’

God why are they so nervous? This is like second nature to me. Hell I even scrubbed the bathroom and I’m happy with the alpine fresh smell wafting into the landing. They will never know the effort I’ve gone through just for them, but to be honest the bit of spring cleaning I did in a hurry when I got home from work might even be good for another visitor at the weekend. I’m hoping they don’t spot the unfortunate and badly placed bleach stain on the crotch of my jeans. I hadn’t used it in a long time and forgot how powerful the spray nozzle was.

I walk into the room and we seem to have done it at the same time which leads to an awkward moment in the doorway,

‘oh eh no you eh you go on in….’

I make my way into the room and over to turn the telly on, for whatever reason I don’t know. I turn around and you’ve sat down on the edge of the bed as a matter of instinct. Your eyes are darting around the room, taking in the new surroundings thinking of questions you want to ask. It’s then that your expression changes to that embarrassed look and right now you look like Richard Whitely in the fifth season of Countdown and I might be beginning to regret this and thinking of excuses to try and get you out as soon as possible. I know what you are going to ask, but I’m feeling cocky so I let you struggle with the words,

‘Eh how much are eh we like talkin’ …..for ..ya know….?’

I lean nonchalantly against the wall, I’m nearly sure I have crossed my legs too and unconsciously replicate the album sleeve off a late 1970’s Foster and Allen EP. I fold my arms and give an extra moment to add to the tension.

One more moment.

‘Well, Dave…’

‘Oh it’s actually Paul….’

Like I give a brass farthing fuck

‘Sorry, sorry Paul yes of course, well Paul we’re talking four fifty a month, and then an equal share of the bills as they come in, ya know yourself….’

There’s every variety of different colour uniforms with varying accents wandering around eyeing up the competition and just stepping over me and my oversized maroon jumper. But that doesn’t explain why i’m knee deep in sticky gold stars and sweating.

So it’s 5th year, and i’ve just installed a 28kbps modem on the only PC running windows 98 and the computer(s) teacher has just suggested putting together a project involving the future of computing in the education system, distance learning and such. it sounds cool, he’s excited, it’s a week off school and i’m quids in. PC’s were my thing. I was good at basketball. Good at girls. But computers were really my thing. Still are.

What i wasn’t banking on was:

A) Said teacher taking a hiss attack and basically retiring with out a hint of advice or direction.

B) Them actually accepting my project.

C) Letting me know that they had accepted my Project via the school principle so close to Christmas, given that the exhibition is early January.

D) There is no ‘D’ but i feel the story can’t go on without one.

So i have to rapidly pull out a project from my hat about something i don’t know anyting about. What i did know to use was Dreamweaver and i had energy. All i needed was a plan. And a crew. The plan was to compile a project on how the internet and using the web can assist a small to medium sized business. I know what you’re thinking but just remember, it’s 1999, people thought the world was going to end at new years and the web wasn’t the sprawling land of self proclaimed social media stars, hell digital cameras were a no go yet and my mobile phone could only store 12 text messages.

So i lash together a website. A few words. I can blag the rest. Jobs Oxo.

Game day.

1st Fail

Apparantly your project has to be what you said it would be at the initial application. pfft!  This can cause confusion with the judges otherwise.

2nd Fail

Forgot to apply for an active internet connection. Kind of important when your project is based solely around a website. This was the main fail of biblical proportion. If it wasn’t for a guy burning my site to cd i would’ve completely been caught with the pants down.

3rd Fail

There’s far too much skirt here. I’ve blutacked a picture of my current squeeze Bevin to my stand and it’s the only thing that is attracting people to my stand. There’s a hottie called Fiona from Loreto Foxrock beside me. We have a connection. She has a boyfriend. You can smell the up-in-da-big-schmoke hormones a mile off as hoards of pleated skirts circle around the main hall pointing and im nearly sure i hear the word ’shift’ being uttered.

4th Fail

The guy on the other side of me looks like he has potential. His mother is straightening his blazer and his father is having a shit fit trying to replace the bulb in a lamp that is towering above this impressive map of ireland with these cocktail sticks sticking out of it. He has a couple of ugly groupies from Waterford or someplace, but they’re ugly and no match for my Fiona from Loreto Foxrock.

Those of you who know the programme for the young scientist exhibition know there’s the judging element where a few people dressed in tweed will visit you and give you random and varying amounts of encouragement but still give you the impression that your project is pure shite. I had noticed throughout the couple of days that the judges were coming back in ones and two’s and three’s to blazer boy next door. I’m not one to hold a grudge. I’m also not one to partially sabotage his project on the 2nd night when people had gone home. Not I.

Then there’s the days when the public are allowed in. Firstly i can’t believe they have to pay in. I’m blasting out mp3’s and chilling on a stool i’ve robbed from 2 ‘howayiz’ from who have some project involving social welfare or bank robberies and how it links to Gross National Product or some shit. One of the tweed aul lads has just trundled over on a crutch from blazer boys stand and turned off my speakers without a word but i’m more concerned about the sudden interest in Fionas stand from what appear to be the usual rugby brigade and i’m thinking whatever chance i had is now out the window.

One of the judges a woman with lovely blonde hair and a real ‘mammy’ vibe about her has actually gone out of her way to say my project is ‘really really great’ even though i can smell the fact that we both know i shouldn’t be here but it’s good to see that i’m having a great time. She wants to take one of my CD’s with my website home to get a ‘proper look’ i make some witty comment about if its broken its sold. She duely has someone else return the CD the next day first thing.

It’s day four and the blazer has a voice all of a sudden and wants to be friends. Lucky for him i have a death stare that would make roadkill run away so he never gets to find out why the chopstick sticking out of Galway isn’t the same height as it was before and why another light bulb has gone out on him. Shame his project wasn’t about social networking. Ponce.

The battle of Loreto’s has truely started. Fiona’s boyfriend, Graham, is in for the day, the dick. And she’s obviously told him all about me and her advances are now as rare as the amount of times the other fucker has taken off his blazer. Bevin’s photo has been reduced to the back of the stand. It was a rookie error to start with. There’s a very flirtatious bunch from Loreto Balbriggan who are being generous sharing their munchies and giggles and i’m nearly sure Aoibheann is really into the internet and Small to Medium Sized Businesses. Or Me. They are all staying in the hotel beside the R.D.S. Score.  Of course Bevin, who incidently goes to Loreto on The Green, turns up and nearly makes me drop the game ball. We wander the hall looking at the various bits of science if you will enjoying the day. Joy.

Then follows the run up to the prize giving. Blazer boy has it. It’s obvious from the smug fuckin look on his canvas and his parents are all making phone calls and the smell of tweed is getting beyond febreeze treatment. There’s a note on my computer monitor that a judge had visited while i was wandering. Fuck them. Aoibheann is about a bit more frequently. Bevin has trotted off home to get changed for some disco that’s on in the R.D.S. to finish off the whole week. Martin King, weather man extrodinaire is spinning the steel. I’ve an open invite back to the hotel beside the R.D.S.

The Blazer is hugging the silverware and having his photo taken beside his bed-of-nails map of Ireland and there’s slaps on backs and you can smell whiskey off the old pair as they practically sign this kids life away. Martin King isn’t even entering this guys head. Why is Bevin coming back?

Fiona’s parents are nice. They talk about Graham too much, who’s still loitering. Actually i’m thinking she wears a bit too much make up anyways.

Aoibheann has practically given me the room key.

There is this old man who is hell bent on me googling the dimensions of the golf ball. He says he’s into redesigning it to last longer. I think people like him shouldn’t be let into such a youth oriented event.

I’ve packed everything away, my P133 box, speakers and keyboard is stowed away and in the bag and i’ve slapped on my Lambretta T Shirt and fresh smellies and am good to go. The experience hasn’t been altogether bad. I’ve learned varying different things throughout the week, mostly about approaching women. If i could do it again, i probably wouldn’t, but if i had to i’d have a wingman i mean project partner so i could leave the stand unattended more. And i’d have a project worth more than spit.

The disco sucks. I’ve gotten to 3½ base with Bevin. Fiona changed out of her uniform and looks hot but it’s a no fly zone.

All that’s left is to return to school the next week and explain to the rest of my class what the experience was like. Do i tell the truth? Did i fuck! I should have been a politician.

In doing some research for this blog post, (it would’ve been lovely to show you my website in all its purple glory!) i did some digital snooping! Above is blazer boy who won that year. He has his own wikipedia page (the fuck), i recently befriended him on Faceache and he’s teaching in Trinity (College that is). If you look over his left ear you can see the top of my stand, eh , pretty nifty wha!

This post is for all the crazy kids who are entered into the Esat Young Scientist Competition being held this week. Special kudos and good luck to Tommy who is entered and living the dream. Here’s hoping your Fiona is there this year my friend : )

I know what your thinking, whatever happened with the chicks. Fiona probably went on to become Head-Girl for some oversized (now collapsed) financial institution. Bevin and I decided that the Liffey was too much of a divide after seeing each other for a couple months. Aoibheann floated around for a while, we swapped numbers at the end of the week and stayed in touch and ended up going out with each other for a good while.

Science wha? Bringing people together since 542 B.C.

UPDATE

Since posting it, i have come across some other photographs and just as a matter to set the scene i will add them. You might find that various things aren’t quite as i remember them as described but it was back in 2000.

The first of which is the gang of us. L-R is Dave (CD Burning man), Bevin, Moi, Fiona (sigh), Christina (?), mneh, and Sarah (?)

Fiona *sigh*

THE disco

My Stand

]]> http://www.hairyfish.org/2009/01/07/the-year-i-really-won-at-the-esat-young-scientist-competition/feed/ 17 http://www.hairyfish.org/2008/09/12/tropic-thunder-moviesie/ http://www.hairyfish.org/2008/09/12/tropic-thunder-moviesie/#comments Fri, 12 Sep 2008 17:20:36 +0000 Ben http://www.hairyfish.org/?p=522

Toddled on to see this much awaited film courtesy of www.movies.ie (i fully reccomend you get your butt over there and register for all the movie goodness they have to offer!). I hope it just isn’t my warped sense of humour but i firmly believe if you are not hurting from laughter from the opening scenes in this film there really is something wrong with you!

The film is about a handful of actors (and their egos) are thrown into a battlefield / action film and they believe it’s purely acting but when people start blowing up and actors are getting ransomed the comedy of this film really turns up a notch.

The characters played by Downey Jr. and Tom Cruise make this film for me.

Ah dont read the script dammit, script reads me. .

Not gonna bother commenting on the whole use of the ‘R’ bomb in the particular scene. Obviously there are people who have their own individual reasons for not wanting to see the film, and that’s fine. To me the film surpassed all of what ended up being a small enough portion of the film.

I would reckon this film is one to watch in the cinema. I’ve never been in a screening where so many people laughed so hard and together at what was happening on screen.

Link

I had always toyed with the idea of getting a tattoo along the way but the whole permanent thing just did never sit well with me. I don’t wanna be sitting there aged 60 with a ed norton style swastika that was on my chest swinging around my ankles but another reason is I would be completely afraid of this shit happening. Gettin some bone head idiot completely miss spelling what i wanted would be another primary reason i would give it a pass. I’ve seen too many of those ‘no no its the chinese symbol for free spirit’ when clearly it more like resembles egg fried rice down the local curry shop!

I wonder can you actually sue someone if they did this to you? I mean in all fairness you’d be there when it happened so you’d be as much of a bone head as them.

For a few more. .

Link

You really couldn’t dream this stuff up if you tried! I suppose these things work off supply and demand but the wording on Amazon listed by the supplier is crazy!

Balla Powder: Scented Scrotum Talc for Men

Product Description
Balla Powder for Men is the ideal anti-chafing and anti-wetness solution for clammy sacks. Guaranteed to prevent the dreaded “bat wing” syndrome, Balla Powder for Men is lightly scented with a masculine fragrance, for anyone else who plans to work in your close quarters. Can be sprinkled into your fudgies for all-day-long comfort and dryness. A fabulous post-workout treatment, Balla Powder for Men can also be used between your cheeks, as well as on fetid feet and aromatic armpits.

WTF is “Bat Wing” syndrome? In the military there is something commonly known as ‘the wolf’ but even wiki didn’t know what the bat wing is!

Link

We all know one or two of these people, people who have totally no idea about booze but throw around these pretentious descriptions of ‘woody’ and ‘fruity’ like they were the love child of Oz Clarke and Jilly Goolden (minx).

When you speak, speak slowly, as though you’re coming to a conclusion. Then break out with it.

“I taste a hint of blackberry just at the finish.”

Either people will agree with you, or they won’t. If they agree with you, great! They don’t taste shit, either. You can now tell them you’re catching a splash of Strawberry Go-Gurt in the fourth and down, and they’ll just nod and stare. You have bolloxed a bunch of clueless snobs; take a bow!

If they don’t agree, then frown a little. They won’t ever say, “Bullshit! You fucker!” Instead, they’ll say, “Really? I don’t taste that….”

Legend.

The Ferret has 5 steps in total and will make you smile!

This weekend i will be mostly sipping on my budweiser and declaring how it eminates of tangy cheddar and really expunges the pallette

Link

I don’t know what’s more upseting, seen the Lois character and realising she’s not as smouldering as her on screen cartoon character but seeing them do the voice is just well weird!

giggity