Alan Says

I have two stinging red eyes.

I am tired as hell.

I’m getting too damn old for this malarky.

This past Wednesday I took to the road for a work conference. While many get to experience the thrills and spills of Paris, New York, Milan, China or heck, even an overnighter in London, this public serving academic librarian must make do with a couple of nights in Cork for a work conference.

But really, in the grand scheme of shit conference venues, I guess Cork isn’t so bad. It’s a pretty funky city; great nightspots, nice restaurants. Weird accents.

Not that I saw all that much of Cork city itself. Its 5 star hotel rooms, pubs and residence bars, on the other hand; aren’t to be sneezed at.

I’d also love to say that the conference bored the face off me, but actually, it put a bit of a fire in my working belly that might have been lacking a bit after a particularly long spell of shushing and telling students off. I’m not in the business long enough to not have the cynical inspired moments after hearing some success stories of my peers.

Highlight of the entire trip? Hmm; I can’t quite decide which 4am late night socialising networking session was better. I should reflect more on that.

But to wing it from one end of the country to my hometown on the other end is probably what has me done in. The third cousin wedding of the year so far (one more to go - Mexico abound!) will finish me, says I. Maybe I should miss it?

And miss myself on the stage with the wedding band, doing my running man dance moves at 2.30 am?.. Er, actually, yeah I probably should have made my excuses and not attended.

Colour me mortified. Bad wine. BAD!

So it would appear that I’ve had nothing of interest to say since the start of last week. No biggie. All’s good with me. Nothing terribly exciting or amazing going on at present.

Except to say that Hurley from Lost was walking around Waterford last week, but since I’ve neither seen him; nor actually care if they get off the island, then whatever! Still, a girl at work was so excited that she got her picture taken with him that the first thing she said to me when I saw her this morning was “I had my picture taken with Hurley from Lost. See; here he is!”

Oh exciting life I lead; how I love thee.

By the end of last week, I wanted to escape every madness under the sun, hide under a blanket, and never return.

Certain other Person had received major brownie points for bagging tickets to Rufus Wainwright solo at the Cork Opera House for my birthday a few weeks back and surprising me with them. I was thinking that I’d sadly have to pass on them halfway during the week, but it worked out ok, and off we tottled to Cork to shut away the world for the weekend.

The gig was great. It was billed as Rufus Solo. So it was just Rufus and his piano or Rufus and his guitar. Meaning there was no Judy Garland songs… which was fine with me.

And a gig wouldn’t be a gig if I didn’t get SOME vidjos for aural and visual pleasure.

I’ve argued back and forth with myself about whether or not I would write this post, or some variation of it, but I think I’ve applied the logic that if this is a personal blog, then personal it should be; both good and bad. Whatever the logic; I’m feeling particularly exposed right now, so please forgive me.

Last Wednesday my Granny passed away.

But actually, I had felt that she had passed quite a few years ago. My Nannie (she insisted on signing birthday cards with the ie ending) suffered from Alzheimer’s for the past number of years. A disease that doesn’t necessarily affect organs or mobility. A disease so nasty it rips apart a personality. Alzheimer’s took my Nannie years ago, and left a shell of a woman I hardly recognised, and was often too painful to watch, sit, and listen to.

But as her health deteriorated over the last week, I realised that I hadn’t let her go yet. My Nannie was here, and she wasn’t ready to go just yet. She clung on to this life for almost a week; strong, stubborn and defying, right to the end. Just like the good ole days, Nannie.

So I got to say goodbyes to my Granny. She had a beautiful send off. And it was comforting to see the hoardes of crowds pay respect to my Granny at probably the biggest funeral I’ve ever seen! She was a respected and admired woman in her native community. It was very touching.

So almost a week after taking seriously ill, my Granny hung on. Fought for something. And it wasn’t until she did finally pass that it all became clear what she fought and clung on for.

Exactly 31 years to the day her husband died, my Nannie left this world. She opened her eyes, watched her reunited family, and drifted off. But not before the end of a mass service. A mass service that was celebrated by a particular priest. The same priest that 31 years ago on the very same day came to her and told her her husband had died.

As someone remarked to my Mother at the funeral service; “Romance is clearly not dead”.

Had I known leaving my house last night, all excited, because The Diving Bell and The Butterfly was showing for one night only, that I’d end up watching What Happens in Vegas instead, I’m not sure I would have left the house.

I feel cheated out of a good movie.

“You got me year of birth way wrong” says I as I was presented with a surprise Birthday cake just before heading out for cocktails, disco dancing and merriment last Saturday night.

“It’s not your year of birth, it’s one of your favourite books!”

“Oh, so it is”, says I. You know; me being a librarian and all, I simply must have birthday cake with icing books on top.

Still, the clock ain’t going back, so I should have been grateful that someone thought I was born in 1984. I wasn’t quite as ungrateful when tucking into a slice or ten.

Any advice? Yikes!

My nose feels like it’s shrunken in to half its size, meaning I can barely breathe.

Because I cut my lawn for the first time last night, and because the weather is so lovely, and because Google told me so, I’ve decided I suddenly have hay-fever.

Now, to self-medicate…

If the reception is not frosty enough after moaning “Tommy” in your sleep, then for the freakin’ LOVE OF GOD, when introducing certain someone else to the folks, after having a really nice day together, DON’T let your Dad end it all by saying; “It was great to meet you Peter”.

Certain Someone: “Eh, who’s Peter, Alan?”

Eh, that’s what I’D like to know!

{Ensue rapid Kicking Dad’s Legs  Action under the table}

Family! They’ll hang ya.

Take heed when engaging in warm baths, glasses bottles of red wine, scented candles and drifting music.

Firstly; try (and fail) to regain your manliness. But also; dropping your only towel into the bath water will result in a mad, nasty, wet dash to the laundry for new towels. Not a good look, even when alone.

And you totally thought I was going to talk about melting candle wax, didn’t you!?

Be careful when engaging in a marathon viewing session of the Brothers and Sisters DVD boxset. You might just get a bit too much of the Walker family.

If you must, then be extra careful when in bed not to call out “Tommy!” in your sleep.

If you must do that, then be EXTRA, EXTRA careful that a certain other person isn’t lying awake and listening to you moaning out random strange names.

And if you’re the certain other person lying awake listening to someone moan out random strange names, a little less of an accusing tone is probably most appropriate when asking “SOO! Who’s Tommy then?!?” the next morning, OK!

That’s all… Hmm. Interesting. I‘d have thought it would have been more Kevin.

It’s only Wednesday? How did this happen. It feels like it should be at least Thursday.

Let’s drop some music bombs that I’ve been enjoying lately. I must say; I’ve had this conversation with a few; I was getting worried for 2008 music contributions, but slowly I’m coming around to everyone’s way of thinking that there’s some good new music. But, I did say slowly.

I’m really liking Elbow’s The Seldom Seen Kid. It gets better with every listen. I’m extremely jealous of anyone who got to go see them live in Dublin recently.
(I demand more gigs in Waterford - Haha. Yeah right; that made even me laugh).

Listen to: The Bones of You, or Grounds for Divorce.

Maybe not quite as catching as some of her ealier stuff, I do still quite like the The Baroness by Sarah Slean. She’s quite Tori Amos-esque, but not quite as barmy-alienating. I know what I mean when I say that, even if no one else does.

I quite like Notes From the Underground.

Speaking of batty: Lykke Li strikes me as being battier than two brooms, but I still very much enjoy Youth Novels for the most part.

I’m particularly fond of I’m Good, I’m Gone.

Following a recommendation, I set about listening to Twenty One by Mystery Jets.

Some nice tunes on there. I especially love Young Love (with Laura Marling). Quite a poppish sound to this one, but I’m not saying that’s a bad thing.

And last but not least, the lovely Devotcka’s A Mad and Faithful Telling is also on repeat with me.

I’m loving Basso Profundo for swinging around the room like a lunatic, or maybe Transliterator for a more serene listening experience.

I also recommend (if I haven’t done so already) albums by MGMT, R.E.M., Hercules and Love Affair, The Breeders, Guillemots, The Raconteurs, and probably more, but just can’t think of at this stage.

I don’t, however, recommend Gnarls Barkley’s latest. Unless you’re in need of a snooze.

A couple of loose ends before I go;

For being patient and reading this far, have a surprise link to right click and save target as.

And finally, who knew I had green fingers? I stuck tulip bulbs in the back garden way back in November after getting the bulbs in Holland one great weekend. They’ve sprung to life and remind me of a great time that I had every time I see them. Happy Spring days.

My feet ache, my jaw hurts from smiling, and I’ve lost the ability to string vocal sentences together after spending a number of hours meeting, greeting and generally trying to entice future possible users to the library where I work, but is was all totally worth it when someone left our stand and said “Aw he’s really nice, I like him.”

Colour me exhausted.

Ooh the awesomeness of Saturday was just too awesome to relate, but I shall try, if you’re interested.

Catherine is as adorable and lovely and great fun, just like like last time. It wasn’t a fluke so She’s also a pretty damn good gig going buddy too! Nice maneuvering to the very-close-to-the-stage-you-can-smell-the-act balcony there Catherine!

Maloti is most delicious. Their starters look like main courses, mint teabags look like wizard’s hats, and I can only attest for the Vegetable Indian Curry, but it was most yummy.

Devotchka are just awesome… No, as in actually, awe inspiring. Just fantastic stuff. ‘Hello there you yummy thing’ to the lovely drummer, I say. Mmmm. First time in Crawdaddy, and it was a really great venue. What’s not awesome, however, is that I left my usual trusty camera behind me. And we were so damn close to the stage, that any wee videos would have been great. Alas, we must do with a very poor quality nokia-blockia phone camera video thingy instead. Although I do warn you it’s all blur. Sad face.

Westbury for cocktails is pretty fine. Having a man propose to a lady right in front of you will also keep you amused for quite a bit; especially as you’re left trying to figure out if the dude was happy he even popped the question… He certainly looked sombre enough anyway. And when it’s time to leave there, the Westin will provide even more yummy cocktails to cap off the most awesome night.

I now need some sleep and maybe two days off work…. Oh, Wait A Minute..!