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Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Twas the Season: Diary Of an X Mass Work Do 2004

(Photo taken from Emertont on Flickr)

After spring cleaning the hard drive of a bent out of shape old work computer, that relentless 9-5 dosser Krossie, came across this hungover blast from the worklace past. We too are disappointed that RTE turned down his idea to unite Terror Danjah and Declean Nurney for a Christmas day broadcast called Songs from a Showband Era, but hopefully this tale of drunken woe will shiver the hangover cobwebs and get you through to Stephens...

7.30 pm: Speed off into the frosty night with Kris Kingle present for teacher A safely tucked under arm - thinking
"What woman doesn't want the beano annual 2005"

8 pm: – Pub Teacher B (in fetching spider web dress) informs me that she just met Bono drunk in Spar shop. Supplies extremely badly drawn picture and signature in green biro, which she claims the great man "drew" for her.

Observe that Bono's writing looks strangely familiar
Teacher B refuses to abandon obvious "made up" story.

8.05 pm: Bono's wife Aili Hewson wanders past

8.06 pm: All teachers run to smoking area to touch Bono and obtain partial indulgence (plenary indulgence can be gained by dropping the knee to the great man)

8.08 pm: Loudly declaim to male teachers that Bono tm (net worth 0.55 billion euro) as quote wanker unquote with messianic complex AND an Irish tax exile.

Teacher C observes he was in the same charismatic Christian group as saint bono but that his new stuff isn't too good.

Reply that only like Adam Clayton cos he takes drugs and is not Christian.

Application Teacher C quits unexpectedly and cannot be rebooted

Further declaim that bono wife Ali is "ride" and desire to have sexual congress with said Ms Hueston.

Note to self-stop drinking.

Consume two pints of Guinness

8.30 pm: In restaurant – late. Several teachers ignorant of the Kris kingle – emergency redistribution of "presents" begins.

Junior school have TWO Tables – RESULT

Text g'fnd important news of great strategic victory

G'fnd wishes me g'luck "with ironing"

Consume two starters, wine and bottle of miller

Further note to self – please stop drinking

10 pm: Main course – duck stuffed with some soft white stuff – absolutely delicious

Attempt to begin food fight. Results desultory though achieve direct hit on teacher D's pink pate.

RESULT

Staff warning one.

Further note to self – please stop drinking

Desert enjoyed so steal second one

Kris kingle stuff distributed to dissatisfaction of almost all.

Though teacher A appears reasonably content with beano annual

11 pm: Attempt to drive Teacher C back out of our area into to "senior zone" Teacher C stands ground and continues conversation with Teacher E's tits.

11.30 pm: repair to pub – capture seats – inveigle teachers to sit down. Teachers remain standing. Past pupil is trapped by drunken teachers but eventually manages to sidle away with "I pity you look" attached to face.

12 am: Attempt to chat up teacher F. Teacher F appears vaguely interested. Text g'fnd that teacher F is attempting to chat me up.

No reply.

12.10 am VERY loudly declaim to male, female teachers, past pupils and staff that Bono tm (net worth 0.55 billion euro) is a wanker with messianic complex, Christian, wealthy ass hole AND an Irish tax exile.

Further repeat claim that bono wife Ali is "ride" and desire to have sexual congress with said.

Note to self-probably too late to stop drinking.

Consumption 2 pints Guinness – one bought by Teacher G's husband.

Teacher H is getting off with teacher I's fiancée – teacher I too drunk to notice

12.20 am: Lead posse from pub of teachers J, K and L. Teacher J very drunk.

12.25 am: Achieve successful entry into club despite Teacher J's best attempts to prevent.

Nature of club: Not bad – good DJ mixing (and beat matching) New Order, Britiny (toxic yeah!) Kenny Logins plus rnb and disco classics

12.30-1.30 am: Consume unknown quantity Guiness continue half hearted attempts on Teacher F plus Teachers M and N. Teacher N seems amenable but continues to flash huge ring with set diamonds in one's face for some strange reason.

Teacher J grabbing punters by the neck in attempt to initiate romantic liaisons. Punters unimpressed and one attempts combat.

Teacher J is narrowly rescued.

Note to self continue drinking shure, shure you'll be grand

Punter who attacked teacher J earlier now attempting to get off with him.

1.45 am: Drunk woman spills pint on teacher K. Teacher K expresses vague wish to respond with violence against punter's boyfriend. Point out size of b'fnd. Notice b'fnd is attempting to clean up under table. Further note that floor is covered with white powder

-->[if !supportLists]-->- -->[endif]-->Very the season

Why even wait for the jacks to get the cocaine into ya?

2.20 am: – Teachers have achieved mystical union in giant ruck on dance floor – feel mildly depressed at sharp contrast between cheery Christmas tunes and cokey punters – exit with Teacher K complaining about past teacher A and former career. Past teacher A has earlier accosted me with mistle tow earlier so feel vaguely disposed to drunken defence.

Insert teacher k in taxi.

Text message from teacher F.

Teacher F thinks me sweet but "already seeing someone"

Scroll through texts and note that boastful message about Teacher F coming on to me that I sent to g'fnd was, was, in fact, instead sent directly to teacher F herself.

Achieve congress with bike and drunkingly and illegally make for home.

???? am: Accosted by small dog

Take dog on in exciting death race

Dog wins

???? am: Phone call from teacher B asking to "call up to mine" for a while

?.01 am: Succeed in breaking phone

Labels: fiction, guest bloggers, Krossie, Rant, Xmas

# posted by antrophe @ 7:42 PM

(0) comments

Monday, January 24, 2005

The Problem In This Equation Is Work.

Christmas was a fucking riot of fun, missing all the shite melodramas, rom-coms, historical epics and sentimental seasonal shite - waking up and reading, then off to the TV for the wierd off kilter stuff the national broadcaster feels obliged to shovel to insomniacs. Tonight there was a film on from 1945 about these three students that kill someone for the intellectual kicks, I mean you don't get that at prime time viewing.

Then there's the creativity of being a night owl, what with people bumbling around all day suddenly off locked up where they belong in bed you get time to do all sorts of shit. the amount of books I got to read over Xmas. Though to be honest, the biggest problem within this equation is work. But hopefully next year I've a solution to that, if I qualify for the dole while still doing night classes, I'll be waving good bye to a substantial part of the day and greeting the night. It's not really got a lot to do with night time though, just industry's inability to allow individuals their own sleeing pattern and need to have us all in work at nine, on the bosses time. Working nights would be as shit as working during the day and your body clock would equally resist it. The dole and recreational slumming is a solution to all that.

If a survey was done, you'd be pretty sure that most of the internet was created at night time, from watching indymedia, its clear the highest proportion of feature development gets posted up on that after midnight. Most of my essays were/are done in the wee hours, coffeed up and focused with spliff, but thats for me, thats on the bassi that you do a fair whack of reading, then handing them in immediately the next morning, while I saunter off google eyed and slightly high from sleep deprivation. That'll be me tonight, I'm doing an all nighter to get some shit done, a few doses of techno to replace the spliff and coffee to prolong the night. Then on to a train, listening to something with an electronic twist, operating in a mindframe totally out of kilter to all the sleepy 9am victims to the world of work around me. Aphex Twin my sound track for them. Gets me in a photographic mood, I've wanted to take photos of city centre streets in commuter rush hours, replace some people digitally with robot drones, super impose conveyor belts on to the paths, delivering people to work against their will. That's a reality thats as obvious as the misery on peoples faces at that hour. Staying up all nights the only way I see that hour of day due to my bodyclock, also means i get into work at a socialable hour, get shit done, then head off giddy from ignoring sleep.

Online gaming, first person shooters? If I had broadband I could imagine getting sucked into that particularly scary underbelly of the net, truly the stuff of science fiction, I remember reading a cyber punk novel called Snowcrash years ago, where we interact with the internet as if in a first person shooter, with unique avators you walk into a store or library, consume and use just like clicking a link. It was an evergrowing world, as people built their sites it extended. I used to play Counterstrike, totally addicted, closing my eyes and seeing the scenery of the games always a sympton of overdoing it, as is dreaming the game. Then again, not having broadband confines me to bulliten boards and random blogs, peering in on the world of others silently. Maybe I can collectivise this one.

Labels: Internet, Rant, Xmas

# posted by antrophe @ 4:06 AM

(0) comments


Tuesday, December 25, 2007 Twas the Season: Diary Of an X Mass Work Do 2004 (Photo taken from Emertont on Flickr) After spring cleaning the hard drive of a bent out of shape old work computer, that relentless 9-5 dosser Krossie, came across this hungover blast from the worklace past. We too are disappointed that RTE turned down his idea to unite Terror Danjah and Declean Nurney for a Christmas day broadcast called Songs from a Showband Era, but hopefully this tale of drunken woe will shiver the hangover cobwebs and get you through to Stephens... 7.30 pm: Speed off into the frosty night with Kris Kingle present for teacher A safely tucked under arm - thinking "What woman doesn't want the beano annual 2005" 8 pm: – Pub Teacher B (in fetching spider web dress) informs me that she just met Bono drunk in Spar shop. Supplies extremely badly drawn picture and signature in green biro, which she claims the great man "drew" for her. Observe that Bono's writing looks strangely familiar Teacher B refuses to abandon obvious "made up" story. 8.05 pm: Bono's wife Aili Hewson wanders past 8.06 pm: All teachers run to smoking area to touch Bono and obtain partial indulgence (plenary indulgence can be gained by dropping the knee to the great man) 8.08 pm: Loudly declaim to male teachers that Bono tm (net worth 0.55 billion euro) as quote wanker unquote with messianic complex AND an Irish tax exile. Teacher C observes he was in the same charismatic Christian group as saint bono but that his new stuff isn't too good. Reply that only like Adam Clayton cos he takes drugs and is not Christian. Application Teacher C quits unexpectedly and cannot be rebooted Further declaim that bono wife Ali is "ride" and desire to have sexual congress with said Ms Hueston. Note to self-stop drinking. Consume two pints of Guinness 8.30 pm: In restaurant – late. Several teachers ignorant of the Kris kingle – emergency redistribution of "presents" begins. Junior school have TWO Tables – RESULT Text g'fnd important news of great strategic victory G'fnd wishes me g'luck "with ironing" Consume two starters, wine and bottle of miller Further note to self – please stop drinking 10 pm: Main course – duck stuffed with some soft white stuff – absolutely delicious Attempt to begin food fight. Results desultory though achieve direct hit on teacher D's pink pate. RESULT Staff warning one. Further note to self – please stop drinking Desert enjoyed so steal second one Kris kingle stuff distributed to dissatisfaction of almost all. Though teacher A appears reasonably content with beano annual 11 pm: Attempt to drive Teacher C back out of our area into to "senior zone" Teacher C stands ground and continues conversation with Teacher E's tits. 11.30 pm: repair to pub – capture seats – inveigle teachers to sit down. Teachers remain standing. Past pupil is trapped by drunken teachers but eventually manages to sidle away with "I pity you look" attached to face. 12 am: Attempt to chat up teacher F. Teacher F appears vaguely interested. Text g'fnd that teacher F is attempting to chat me up. No reply. 12.10 am VERY loudly declaim to male, female teachers, past pupils and staff that Bono tm (net worth 0.55 billion euro) is a wanker with messianic complex, Christian, wealthy ass hole AND an Irish tax exile. Further repeat claim that bono wife Ali is "ride" and desire to have sexual congress with said. Note to self-probably too late to stop drinking. Consumption 2 pints Guinness – one bought by Teacher G's husband. Teacher H is getting off with teacher I's fiancée – teacher I too drunk to notice 12.20 am: Lead posse from pub of teachers J, K and L. Teacher J very drunk. 12.25 am: Achieve successful entry into club despite Teacher J's best attempts to prevent. Nature of club: Not bad – good DJ mixing (and beat matching) New Order, Britiny (toxic yeah!) Kenny Logins plus rnb and disco classics 12.30-1.30 am: Consume unknown quantity Guiness continue half hearted attempts on Teacher F plus Teachers M and N. Teacher N seems amenable but continues to flash huge ring with set diamonds in one's face for some strange reason. Teacher J grabbing punters by the neck in attempt to initiate romantic liaisons. Punters unimpressed and one attempts combat. Teacher J is narrowly rescued. Note to self continue drinking shure, shure you'll be grand Punter who attacked teacher J earlier now attempting to get off with him. 1.45 am: Drunk woman spills pint on teacher K. Teacher K expresses vague wish to respond with violence against punter's boyfriend. Point out size of b'fnd. Notice b'fnd is attempting to clean up under table. Further note that floor is covered with white powder -->[if !supportLists]-->- -->[endif]-->Very the season Why even wait for the jacks to get the cocaine into ya? 2.20 am: – Teachers have achieved mystical union in giant ruck on dance floor – feel mildly depressed at sharp contrast between cheery Christmas tunes and cokey punters – exit with Teacher K complaining about past teacher A and former career. Past teacher A has earlier accosted me with mistle tow earlier so feel vaguely disposed to drunken defence. Insert teacher k in taxi. Text message from teacher F. Teacher F thinks me sweet but "already seeing someone" Scroll through texts and note that boastful message about Teacher F coming on to me that I sent to g'fnd was, was, in fact, instead sent directly to teacher F herself. Achieve congress with bike and drunkingly and illegally make for home. ???? am: Accosted by small dog Take dog on in exciting death race Dog wins ???? am: Phone call from teacher B asking to "call up to mine" for a while ?.01 am: Succeed in breaking phone Labels: fiction, guest bloggers, Krossie, Rant, Xmas # posted by antrophe @ 7:42 PM (0) comments Monday, January 24, 2005 The Problem In This Equation Is Work. Christmas was a fucking riot of fun, missing all the shite melodramas, rom-coms, historical epics and sentimental seasonal shite - waking up and reading, then off to the TV for the wierd off kilter stuff the national broadcaster feels obliged to shovel to insomniacs. Tonight there was a film on from 1945 about these three students that kill someone for the intellectual kicks, I mean you don't get that at prime time viewing. Then there's the creativity of being a night owl, what with people bumbling around all day suddenly off locked up where they belong in bed you get time to do all sorts of shit. the amount of books I got to read over Xmas. Though to be honest, the biggest problem within this equation is work. But hopefully next year I've a solution to that, if I qualify for the dole while still doing night classes, I'll be waving good bye to a substantial part of the day and greeting the night. It's not really got a lot to do with night time though, just industry's inability to allow individuals their own sleeing pattern and need to have us all in work at nine, on the bosses time. Working nights would be as shit as working during the day and your body clock would equally resist it. The dole and recreational slumming is a solution to all that. If a survey was done, you'd be pretty sure that most of the internet was created at night time, from watching indymedia, its clear the highest proportion of feature development gets posted up on that after midnight. Most of my essays were/are done in the wee hours, coffeed up and focused with spliff, but thats for me, thats on the bassi that you do a fair whack of reading, then handing them in immediately the next morning, while I saunter off google eyed and slightly high from sleep deprivation. That'll be me tonight, I'm doing an all nighter to get some shit done, a few doses of techno to replace the spliff and coffee to prolong the night. Then on to a train, listening to something with an electronic twist, operating in a mindframe totally out of kilter to all the sleepy 9am victims to the world of work around me. Aphex Twin my sound track for them. Gets me in a photographic mood, I've wanted to take photos of city centre streets in commuter rush hours, replace some people digitally with robot drones, super impose conveyor belts on to the paths, delivering people to work against their will. That's a reality thats as obvious as the misery on peoples faces at that hour. Staying up all nights the only way I see that hour of day due to my bodyclock, also means i get into work at a socialable hour, get shit done, then head off giddy from ignoring sleep. Online gaming, first person shooters? If I had broadband I could imagine getting sucked into that particularly scary underbelly of the net, truly the stuff of science fiction, I remember reading a cyber punk novel called Snowcrash years ago, where we interact with the internet as if in a first person shooter, with unique avators you walk into a store or library, consume and use just like clicking a link. It was an evergrowing world, as people built their sites it extended. I used to play Counterstrike, totally addicted, closing my eyes and seeing the scenery of the games always a sympton of overdoing it, as is dreaming the game. Then again, not having broadband confines me to bulliten boards and random blogs, peering in on the world of others silently. Maybe I can collectivise this one. Labels: Internet, Rant, Xmas # posted by antrophe @ 4:06 AM (0) comments	About Soundtracksforthem specialises in iconoclastic takes on culture, politics, and more shite from the underbelly of your keyboard. A still-born group blog with a recent surge of different contributers but mainly maintained by James R. Big up all the contributers and posse regardless of churn out rate: Kyle Browne, Reeuq, Cogsy, Chief, X-ie phader/Krossie, Howard Devoto, Dara, Ronan and Mark Furlong. Send your wishes and aspirations to antropheatgmail.com Label Cluster In no certain order... 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