May 25, 2005

Disney's Recess posits otherwise

I found this link reading Mimi Smartypants which is a very, very funny web diary.

I read this, and my brain kept switching back and forth like when vieweing the vase/face optical illusion, except this was between Completely Hilarious/Somewhat Horrifying. I mean, the heated discussion of the arcane aspects of this topic goes on for 20-plus pages. You see what I mean.

But mostly such a complete and utter boy thing. Guys always do this, starting with the eternal Batman v. Superman v. Spiderman to Ill 'n P's fellow medieval studies grad students, who once sat around declaring what each other's roles in medieval society would have been (Crusader, Venetian merchant, French cardinal...nobody's ever a pig farmer when you do these things, despite the fact that 99% of everybody at the time was a dirt-eatin' serf. Like how people who belive in past lives were always Cleopatra or a Russian princess or Gernal Lafayette, and never a button maker or whatnot. Yet, while there were very, very few Ptolemaic emperors, people throughout history have worn pants.)

Anyways, I think my magic number is probably like, 7. I'll lowball it and then, should an opportunity to test this theory every arise, get to be pleasantly surprised when I take out twenty.

Well, maybe not 20. Not if they're on PCP.

Posted by Diablevert at 06:45 PM | Comments (1)

May 23, 2005


Purple Flowers.jpg
Purple flowers, Templeogue Road

Or, as they're known in Latin, Pulcherous Puniceus Florea. Near my bus stop.

(Note to self: Have just made Latin joke. Kill me, please.)

Posted by Diablevert at 08:05 AM | Comments (0)

May 21, 2005


Bank of Ireland ATM, Dame Street

Maybe time to think about emptying the bin, guys. Just a thought.

Although it amuses me that people were willing to go the extra mile and crumple the receipt up tight and stand there for what must have been five or ten minutes to find the a suitable corner to wedge their scrap into this burgeoning public sculpture piece. How far from the actual bin can the paper extend before it's not really thrown away anymore? What is the metaphysical radius of the disposal area? Where the line between trash and litter?*

*I mean, can you tell I've gone to college or what?

Posted by Diablevert at 08:03 AM | Comments (0)

May 19, 2005



Welcome to the Historic Dublin Walking Tour of Pie. You are now at the crucial junture between the lemon filling and the meringue: Here is where it all came together. And where it all fell apart.

Actually, it's

Plaque Showing the Route of the Old City Walls in Viking Times.

(It's merely that the Vikings were terribly fond of pie.)

Posted by Diablevert at 07:48 AM | Comments (0)

May 17, 2005

It's Definite

....I've been listening to the radio while I get ready for work the past several weeks. It's the usual mix of news, sports, weather and traffic --- all of these subjects encompassing the whole nation, not just Dublin. (Well, they have international news as well as local).

I now feel confindent in saying that it is, on average, every three days that the traffic reporter delivers an announcement such as this: "And if you're on you're way into Killkenny, do watch out on the N9 for a wandering bullock which has been causing some problems."

Sometimes it's sheep.

Posted by Diablevert at 08:10 AM | Comments (0)


Doyles Vat.jpg
Picture in the Basement of Doyle's Pub: "Guiness Vats, c. 1910"

Well, fuzzy vats.

Posted by Diablevert at 07:40 AM | Comments (0)

May 11, 2005

The Is Just to Highlight

That The Onion is uniformly brilliant this week, the kind of complete and thoroughgoing goodness evinced by say, London Calling or Madame Bovary.

Posted by Diablevert at 09:39 AM | Comments (2)

May 09, 2005

Black Swans, Twin Snowflakes

....these are as nothing compared to the rarity of a falaffel joint that encourages its customers to correctly identify the proper ingredients in shwarma.

Kebab Klub.jpg

Posted by Diablevert at 05:24 PM | Comments (0)

May 07, 2005

That Uncle Sam. Always Thinkin'.

I'm writing a shrort story set in the 70s and I wanted to confirm a minor detail about the draft back then. My attempts to do so led me to the Selective Service website and their FAQ---an acronym which, I fell compelled to mention, stands for "Frequently Asked Questions"---which contains this fascinating tidbit:

How does the Military Selective Service Act apply to individuals who have had a sex change?

Individuals who are born female and have a sex change are not required to register. U.S. citizens or immigrants who are born male and have a sex change are still required to register. In the event of a resumption of the draft, males who have had a sex change can file a claim for an exemption from military service if they receive an order to report for examination or induction.

Somebody, somewhere, deep within the bowels of the government, had to give a fair bit of thought to this issue. It would greatly amuse me to see the flurry of memos which resulted in that particular policy revision, and to read the dates at the top...

Posted by Diablevert at 10:05 PM | Comments (0)


The Dock.jpg

The Dock, Ormond Quay

Sir? Your sign there, it's a little...Oh.

Oh, you already knew that.


Well, that's alright, then.

Posted by Diablevert at 12:28 PM | Comments (0)

May 05, 2005

Somehow I think...

...that this sounds more appetizing in the original, stickler though I am for accurate translation.

Rice Ball.jpg

At the Asian Market, Jarvis Street.

Posted by Diablevert at 05:26 PM | Comments (0)

Confidential to H. Banaenae

My cousin posted a list of questions---her metal flotsam---in her semi-private online diary. In a move that I anticipate will amuse myself alone, I'm answering them here. If anyone wants to Jeopardy-style the questions to these answers, feel free to avail yourself of the comments.

1. You were cursed by Gypsies as a small child. Did no one tell you?

2. In the last place you will look for them.

3. Sheer ineptitude----excuse me, I mean sheer endearing ineptitude.

4. Karma

5. Becasue you are not an the descendant of an ancient line of African priestesses, all of whom have white hair, blue eyes, and the potential to wield magic. It's a well-known requirement.

6. The day before the civil war starts.

7. It is one of the very qualities which defnies the class; e.g., why can a dog bark? Because if it couldn't it wouldn't be a dog...

8. You can, you're just being a pussy. But, we love you anyway.

9. Steve Martin (13 times)

10. You hated it.

11. If you don't know, I can't tell you.

12. 4,850 miles (7,805 km). Or as close as the nearest Getz/Gilberto CD

14. Why don't you ask Sam instead of the internet, eh?

15. Probably not, but it's difficult to say. See also: Occam's Razor, the Problem of Evil, Pascal's Wager, and Rev. Lovejoy: "Short answer, yes with an if, long answer, no with a but."

16. Maybe he's turning into Rick Bayless.

17. Well, where were you when you woke up this morning? You started there, did some stuff, and there you are.

18. Yes.

19. Because Clear Channel is the devil.

20. You could try here, but probably your best bet is Ebay.

21. Because if there's no way it will work in the first place you don't have to tell them you like them and risk hearing that they don't like you back. At least, that's why I do it.

22. See above. Also, Rio is a lovely background for idle daydreams.

23. Personally, my bet is not much. If worst comes to worst, I'll be right.

24. Pablo Neruda and Elizabeth Barrett Browning are usually throwing heavy elbows for top spot in this dog fight, with some people plumping for Auden as the dark horse, and Shakespear's had his number retired, but for myself, I think I'd choose "Elegy," by Jorge Luis Borges, (though some might think it doesn't qualify). Illegally reproduced below:

Oh destiny of Borges
to have sailed across the diverse seas of the world
or across that single and solitary sea of diverse names,
to have been a part of Edinburgh, of Zurich, of the two Cordobas,
of Colombia and of Texas,
to have returned at the end of changing generations
to the ancient lands of his forebears,
to Andalucia, to Portugal and to those counties
where the Saxon warred with the Dane and they mixed their blood,
to have wandered through the red and tranquil labyrinth of London,
to have grown old in so many mirrors,
to have sought in vain the marble gaze of the statues,
to have questioned lithographs, encyclopedias, atlases,
to have seen the things that men see,
death, the sluggish dawn, the plains,
and the delicate stars,
and to have seen nothing, or almost nothing
except the face of a girl from Buenos Aires
a face that does not want you to remember it.
Oh destiny of Borges,
perhaps no stranger than your own.

25. My favorite is Lolita; I first read it when I was fifteen and have never read another that caused me to stop and lift my head from the page to pause in sheer stupified wonder so many times. However, the best is probably Madame Bovary. I knew the end before I read it; if you don't, read it now before somebody ruins it for you.

26. At one time I thought it was The Princess Bride; I might plump for Ninotchka now, or Aresenic and Old Lace, or The Thin Man.

27. Too many to pick, as you should well know. For saddest I'd say Nina Simone singing Ne Me Quitte Pas.

28. Fuckin' Mormans, I'm telling you. They go young.

29. 2.5 square miles.

Incidentally, I know this limerick....What? It's about a bucket.

30. I dunno. But don't worry about it overmuch. See: Roald Dahl's Matilda, or Stephen King's Firestarter. (I hear Drew Barrymore is delightfully kitschy.)

31. Yes, only they suck.

32. First of all: Imdb, foo. Learn it, live it, love it. Second: David Ogden Stiers, best known as the pompous know-it-all Winchester in the T.V. version of M*A*S*H.

33. Because the third act needs a ballad and a tragic death, and you can't have the pretty-boy hero die. What do you think this is, opera?

34. Yes.

35. Apathy, buddism, drinking enough to see the monkey. There are many methods. They all imply a necessary acceptance of imperfection.

36. Yeah, probably, but the Republicans were afraid we'd elect Roosevelt Presidente-for-life if given half a chance, thus the 22nd ammendment.

37. No. People confuse goodness with idealism, herosim, beauty --- the usual fizzy ingredients in the martrydom cocktail. But given human nature, emitting a lifetime's worth of low-wattage kindness and compassion is a lot more difficult than a few years of blazing intergrity, but it certianly occurs.

Plus we like them better when they leave but one pretty memory to fit on the postage stamp, viz. James Dean. Fat Elvis never had a chance.

Unless don't mean the song? Do you? I assume you do not. Because---and I say this knowing that Sull is going to get on a plane and come over here and beat me because of it----Billy Joel blows donkey balls.

38. There are two ways of looking at this. One---and this goes for both you and the freshman stoners who debated this through every fifth-period art class back in 1997---the motherfucker was shot four times. It's over. He daid. I'm handing out the Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, and if you don't shut up, I'm going to make you read it.

Two: Not so long as Death Row and his momma keep on squeezin'. Can you say, "Tribute Albumn Remix: The Anniversary Edition"?

39. No. Respoding to it without posting the refernces, comme moi, is way, way more annoying. And I used French. Who wins the bigger asshole prize? Me, me, me.

40. I second Sull's motion.

41. The fact that you are wondering about this demonstrates that you are truly a Bostonian at heart.

42. Most people prefer free will; lottery winners don't care much either way. But perhaps it would be better to think of it this way: if you end up a homeless person, would you rather believe that it was your fault that you're a homeless person or that you were destined from birth to be a homeless person?

43. Mutual respect and open communication, shared interests. Frequent laughter. Tenderness.

44. If you mean the type of thing I think you mean, perhaps in some extremely limited circumstances. See: Edgar Allen Poe's "The Murders in the Rue Morgue."

45. Probably not; boys are dumb.

46. Because he had long desired to become a minor demi-god in the church of bad poetry, whose worshippers are legion. His apostles are even now laying another row of tiled mosic in the alcove of their icon, thier flowing purple robes stained with laquer and dusted in gold flake.

Just as Che Guevara's ambition was for his pretty face to sell a lot of t-shirts, the weft of which is cotton but the warp irony (resulting in a poly-cotton blend, machine washable, but not too warm or the colors will run).

47. Depends whether you want to be dead at thirty or a hundred.

48. Now or never.

Posted by Diablevert at 01:27 PM | Comments (4)

May 03, 2005

The White Fathers

White Fathers.jpg

Rectory Sign, Cypress Grove Road, Templeogue

I know, I know. It's a monk thing. It just reads like a Kurtzean minor-demigod thing.

That's just down the road from me, by the way.

Posted by Diablevert at 12:22 PM | Comments (0)

May 02, 2005

Names have been changed... protect the something-or-other:

AFriend: I did something so geeky last night

Diablevert: What?

AFriend: I made out with a guy from 'Colonial House'

AFriend: Like, the historical role-play reality show on PBS

Diablevert: It says something awesome about you that your list of "geeky activities engaged in" has a sentence beginning "made out with"

Posted by Diablevert at 09:05 PM | Comments (3)

May 01, 2005

Almost Makes You Feel Like You're Down in New Orleans

Booze to Go.jpg

Liquor Store, Parnell Street

What I like about this is its frankness.

Posted by Diablevert at 12:17 PM | Comments (1)