Friday, 26 February 2010
As this is the second post on Dublin I just make my usual observations very brief and let the pictures do most of the talking. But being that I don't speak Gallic and Bren knows some he schooled me on little things like how to say streets and stuff. When I was a little boy I thought Ireland was full of redheads, leprechauns and shelieghlies, and lucky charms that were magically delicious. Yep, still feel the same way. Driving around with so many options was just a whirlwind of places faces and experiences I can never forget. Here are some high lights.
Joleene refusing to get out of the Nissan Cube, comfy car=adventure and a place she's never been before.
Victorian Bathing Shield for Woman, them Irish are a coo koo for religion.
Dublin Taxi Cab driver likes the Cube, Word!
My guy has some killer taste in music. Records from his teen years.
Me In Bren's family home where he was raised. It took 7 1/2 years to get here but so worth the wait. His Mam as a young woman on the mantel. she was hot!
Saw this graffiti in Dun Laoghaire (pronounced Doon Leer-hah), and pooch posed for the photo! Classic.
Bren's mam and her grave, I only spoke to her on the phone along with his father. I got emotional at the site cause this was not my first choice of how I wanted to meet them. Still I am glad I got to see them regardless.
Sisters got the blues, and said I had a funny accent. I forgot I was in Dublin.
The most glamourous place in Dublin city center.
Chick didn't seem to like the car by the expression on her face. Shit I ain't the one walking.
Either purple is a favourite colour for woman in Ireland, or some ugly ass clothes were on sale.
Bren's family Church where he went as a good little boy, Long before I came along. His parent church was built in 1889 and there family home in 1908.
Me touching holy water. Suprisingly i didn't burst into flames going into the church.
A hair don't doing a hair do, AKA Dublin's Crazy Crimper.
Hooty Mcboob in an Irish Pub, I guess when Marks & Spencer wanna sell something, they stick it in the front window.
All I am saying is I am never drinking Jameson, Sambucca or Guinness Slammers ever again. Ouch! We had a fun night with his brothers. Relax we took a taxi!
The cube on Sandymount, the little car that's like the tardis of Doctor Who. Taking a break from the long haul.
Thursday, 25 February 2010
I write for another blog from time to time and I enjoy the hell out of it. Fuck yeah I do. Jimbo a good friend and client/drinking buddy edits my jammering, and directs the site so it's his baby. He unlike me is a professional journalist, me I am a drop out. journo of the drunk kind. A writer wrties, a good writer drinks and great writers find there ass's at the foot rest of the bar. So At the moment I have to new entries Over at Fuck Yeah Horror, and I am most proud of them. Some people really get all religious about the horror genre and to me I can never take it seriously cause its a fictional movie. But I have listed my Top Ten Horror Rock and Roll Movies Of All Time along with a review of Rec; 2. Opposed to fucking Bloody Disusting, those assholes and tools don't know the difference between a Monster and a fucking Serial Killer/Psycho. Another treat is my review of underated movie Race With The Devil. It may make you laugh or may make you dislike me more, either way just go and check it out. Leave a comment or hit us up with a film you would like to see reviewed.
People are all up in arms about a little ad that has made the rounds in france to get people to stop smoking. And I will be honest when I saw the ads, thaught to myslef, self, if cigarettes were like giving head I would be doing it all the time. Shit I'd never get off my kness. But one thing I have to say about the French is that I do enjoy their saucy sense of humour and when they nail it the fucking nail it good. The ad reads, To smoke, it is to be the slave of the tobacco. But if you ever tried to buy cigarettes in Paris it's a fucking chore running around looking for a sign reading TABAC. By the time you find a joint you've already kicked the habit. Too much work. Yet, come on this add works on so many levels, have you ever found yourself blowing someone and it's comparible to doing your taxes, what's worse is when they look completely bored or simply vacant. Fuck that. Then they moan when you stop. How rude, well they don't call it a job for nothing. Still I like the ad and it made me smile, so there is my two cents.
I came across this guy's video whom made a trip to South America and found his funny ass in a TB zone. So upon his return to Sydney Australia he has been placed in Quarantine. I remember I was in hospital when I came down with Shigella dysenteriae, which sucked ass and I was stuck in a room for five days with no TV and cable and only my magazines and Iphone to keep me company. I missed my partner and my dog. But ulike this guy I had visitors to visit me and keep me company, but true to form I complained like a mother fucker. Old habits die hard. Upon seeing this video it reminded me of a guy whom was a male nurse I knew in LA. He got fired for blowing a male patient whom had a visible hard on while in Traction, when he was caught by an Orderly making the rounds. FYI, the patient came in his mouth the moment the orderly entered the room. Enchante! All that's missing from this video is the money shots of him in those hospital robes where your ass is always showing. Lucky for Christian Van Vuuren his humour is still intact and kinda hot. I know Tyer (whoops, I do have a big mouth) would be on it in an instant. Ladies and gentlemen I bring you the Fully Sick Rapper. Hit it.
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
Joleene in Bren's Mam's chair after a long haul.
Planning a trip is never easy. There are things to do, routes to map out and plan, pack and make sure the pooch does not get on my last gay nerve. So while the good folks over at Nissan allowed me a use of a Cube after the launch over at Tower Bridge. It allowed me a little breathing space. With my playlists picked out I had the perfect driving music to play so I would not fall asleep. Unfortunately I was not the one doing all the driving as my partner had to. I don't have a license yet, so the roads can heave a sigh of relief for now. Up at the crack of dawn to make our drive to Holyhead in under five hours to take the ferry to Dublin Port. Let me just say it was more akin to going to Wally World. In short I had my bitch on. Bren had not had his morning coffee, and Joleene with her dog rescue issues made sure she was well within proximity to make sure we brought her along. So there we were packed into the Cube all in strange moods at 6:00am.
Bren always complains that his legs hurt after a few hours driving as he is a whopping 6'2. I do like them big. So plugging in the Tom Tom and trying to wake up made for a comic episode, as Bren called out in cadence to which route he should take. So what do I do, I swear at the very moment I turned into my mother, an utter bitch with an axe to grind. We haven't even left London yet, and we were at it and it was only 6;15am. Joleene wanted to sit in front cause she like a view and was a petulant little brat all while this was taking place. Route mapped on Tom Tom, check. Plug in my iphone and hit play. But because it was stressful enough I chose Massive Attack first to ease us in. and make our way to the M6. Finally, road bound. Comfy seat, killer tunes and with the family to Dublin we a go.
Some guy taking a photo in his car of the cube!
Two hours passed and I caught glimpses of people staring at us and I forgot I was in a car nobody had actually seen just yet. So as they smiled I scored them and was struggling with my own tiredness. I needed reinforcement. Sonic Youth playing much to the chagrin of Bren, whom thinks they're just noise. The sound system pumped as Unmade Bed played and we both were in desperate need of Coffee and Joleene needed a pee and poo break. So to the road stop services we go. To me those places are the third ring of fashion and style hell. Don't get me started on the service they provide or lack there of, cause it sucks. I needed to wake up and I don;t even drink coffee. Two and half hours in and no complaints of leg pains from Bren, all systems go. Relieved and caffeined we hot the road again. Smooth sailing until Joleene acts up and does the dog version of bucking the back seat with her big head. After the fourth threat of returning her to the dog pound she behaved and went to sleep.
Guy chased us to check us out, Better Recognise!
Apparently gets real wild on Karaoke nights, I hope I can handle it.
Holyhead Local Yokels
Bren's mood was in auto pilot and upon reaching our destination of Holyhead, I accidentally dropped Bren's phone under the seat as it rang. Being that my phone was blue-toothed to the car sound system. Nice. Bren shot me a glare as we made our way through customs onto the ferry for Dublin. I swear I shot him a glance that said I could park my nails into his face. We were tired and I gave him a kiss. We had to Leave Joleene in the in the car, but first she needed to run her little legs off. So as we waited to board the ferry I took a walk to see what the local action was in Holyhead.
I use the term "action" loosely as and shit happening in Holyhead. Joleene acted like a rabid escaped dog whom is never let out of her pen but once she did her business she was her loveable self once again. Three hours would be our trip while the ferry porters asked questions about the Cube. and Joleene decided to go for Oscar gold and decide to bark in protest to us leaving her in the car. We needed a disco nap and thank god we got 1st class tickets on this ship. Cause I needed a fucking break and was in no mode to act the diva while on a ship en route to Dublin.
Tracks Played while driving!
Iggy and The Stooges: Down On The Street- FunHouse
Massive Attack: Paradise Circus- Heligoland
The XX: Basic Space- XX
Sonic Youth: Unmade Bed- Sonic Nurse
Mclusky: Lightsaber Cocksucking Blues- Mclusky Do Dallas
Tricky: Pumpkin- Maxinquaye
Led Zeppelin: Tangerine- Led Zep III
The Chantells: My Plea
Detroit Cobras: I'll Keep Holding On- Rabbit Rat Or Mink
The Shangri- La's: Out In The Street- Best Of
The Damned: New Rose- Damned Damned Damned
Sade: Soldier Of Love- Soldier Of Love
Fleetwood Mac: Sisters Of The Moon-Tusk
Heart: Magic Man- Dreamboat Annie
So with lunch ordered on the ferry we started to unwind and take a much needed rest. My god I deserved a break today. But we were still an hour out of Dublin City port before we reached a final destination. Bacon was saved as a treat for Joleene and a Mea Culpa for leaving her alone for so long. But we made it. and I like the others were tired. Ater a 9 hour trip the car help us make the trek smoother and I just wanted to get some sleep.
Monday, 15 February 2010
I am a fan of Massive Attack, always have been. When they coupled with Los Angeles's own Hope Sandoval of Mazzy Star how can you not resist. Upon first hearing this song this was the stand out track and then I saw the promo videos that they released to promote Heligoland, I was sold. Georgina Spelvin gives her honest and sincere take on making The Devil In Miss Jones nearly some 38 years ago. The video is directed by Toby Dye, and is genius. While promoting Heligoland, Transport For London refused to place posters in tube stations for reasons that the album's sleeve artwork resembled "Street Art". Say waht, what you talking bout Willis? Unlike the useless crap they bombard us with on a daily basis from coroperate companies. Spelvin's accounts isn't sugar coated and interspersed with flashbacks of the film from the "Golden Era of Porn". I paired it with Georgina Spelvins first controversial role as a lesbian teen for juxtaposition. We've come a long way. Spare me your Andrea Dworkin theologies, and simply enjoy.
Thursday, 11 February 2010
God damn it I said it once and I will say it again till there is snow caps on the hill tops of hell, I hate fashion, but love love love style. As I am taking a breather from Cube duties, I am focusing on other things at the mo, to keep a level head. I came across this guys blog, and it struck me as a shrine to his closet, and fodder for me to poke fun at. I know what you're thinking, how can you be so cruel Henry and talk about somebody behind their back? Well, I was raised right it's called manners, and I can be a lot funnier, so can we move it along. Chop chop. As I get older I try and dress age appropriate, but I wont wear crap from say Hot Topic or Camden tween shops. I like what I like and that's it. I scope vintage clothing stores like a diamond mine jeweller. I take me time.
This blog comes across as a series of pictures where he shows us his outfits, colour co-ordinated with a back drops in various designer shops and interior design studios and galleries. Sometimes the stuff is worn again and interchanged. The fun part is his nasal T stance posing, 2nd rate lack luster model gaze, complete with a man bag, ok purse or shades. Bitch Please! Yes you too can look like this fashion fool with a lesson from The Barbizon School Of Modelling. My mind starts swirling with all kids of soundbites that I virtually am biting my tongue like a bad little boy possessed with Tourettes Syndrome. Evil I know. Don't have anything nice to say, well come sit next to me. What's missing here is the humour and the fun of style. Not sexy.
This guys probably creams his manties at the sight os silk damask wall features and won't let you get a cum stains on his 1400 count Egyptian cotton count sheets. The dude has Od'd on GQ and Conde Naste, I mean Jesus, its overkill, over done and just OVAH! You know those guys whom think they're the male versions of peacocks and walk like they have a stick in their ass. You throw a friend a parting side glance with an inside joke. This is that guy. No smile, and probably spent more than he should on what he's wearing at the advice of some flouncing queen who buys into the fantasy. When in fact most of these get ups look like uniforms. The turtle neck, the blazer, the scarf and those hideous over priced trainers paired to the backdrop. Yikes, looking at this guy fives me fashion cramps. The equivalent to fashion gas. You know when you walk into a fart, you're not going to really like the smell. What this guy looks like, is in a serious need of some heavy cock action to lighten his mood.
One James Andrews Blog is the fashion equal to Lurid Digs, sorry but that's my opinion and it stays. Funny the intent is there sure enough, but style gets lost in the execution and comes across as vain, pompous and pure egotism. Mr. Andrews, Tom Ford called, he forbids you from wearing any more of his collection. I mean come on, can your try any harder? Probably. Yes, you have some lovely clothes that would look better on someone else much younger without looking like they made an effort. There in lies the problem, he looks like he made to much effort and it just doesn't float. My fashion tip cut your hair shorter Senor Tight Ass and have some fucking fun. Visit a dark room, anything, other than striking us with that silly cookie cutter pose. Camp it up maybe, but then I think he's camp enough.
Runway looks never look the same on regular people, when they copy it to the letter it looks strange without all the sheen that went into prepping it as it passes us by on the sidewalk. Sidewalk does not equate Catwalk. When looking at style Cholos, Mods, Male Hustlers, and Gangsters got it right and it never goes out of style. Truly classic, and I will never buy into Tom Fords world ever, to sterile. You can never go wrong with a classic look and the stuff is always made better, to last a long time. It'll cost more sure but so worth it. Style is something money can never buy. There is a shop around the corner from my shop that some of the guys look like dudes whom dress as grown ups with special needs, definitely a look that's just an over priced one. I mean who wants to look like a nerd with learning difficulties at the cost of £1200 quid? Certainly not I, this is where fashion guru extraordinaire Dolly Parton proclaimed, it costs alot to look this cheap. Humour is always a good thing in style cause you can never take yourself seriously.
I am not a fan of American football, nor I a fan of European Footie (soccer to the U.S.). I am a rugby fan, Yeah man! Visually it looks better, the aesthetic is more hands on and, the guys are fucking hot. Even the ugly guys are brutish and, excuse me while I hose my self down. I just don't really watch American Sports, it's a first class lesson in boring. However this year there seemed to be all sorts of controversy over commercials and it seemed to have a running theme. Gays VS. Straights, or as I call it the pink pound is mightier than the traditional nuclear family, and The Man wants a piece of the action. Just because he didn't make the killing doesn't mean he can't feed on the carcass. With the current economic climate as it is, the "traditional family" is finding it hard to buy the goods corporate man wants them to purchase. So who is left?
Gay people, most don't have children and have a much larger disposable income, if you do not take into account self righteous lesbians and their damn gifted kids. Makes perfect sense. So Snickers played it with the cock planted firmly in cheek, by giving it a large amount of humour. To appease the gods over at CBS, which to a bunch of disgruntled old ladies, (Ahh Bless) labeled the channel as Corporate Bullshit, by way of shaming them for saying what would pass and what wouldn't. That, and a large amount of money with the hopes of zeroing in on the pink dollar and the pound. With a pro life anti-abortion commercial being touted as acceptable and Man Crunch not, I wondered it if was the whole PR smoke and mirrors effect in play. Hmmm, shrewd move Mr. money grubbing man.
To me even the name Super Bowl sounds gay. Kinda like a contest they'd have at Hardon. Where guys attempt to shove the biggest and largest dildos up their ass's, till they resemble something that can only look like the New Jersey Turnpike. Boring, messy, tedious to watch, and probably seen in a Tijuana bar floor show for a dollar a million times over. Still the gay voice was heard loud and clear. Just think of the ten percent of the Superbowl population. The butt slapping, the mounting, and the physical frottage and man sweat worked up for a full three hours. When it's all over the ceremonial disrobing and lathering up in the locker room. Jesus this could be a porn script of a thousand titles here.
After first seeing this banned commercial for Mancrunch ad submitted for Super Bowl I asked my self. What the hell is in those chips and where can I crab a bag? Hell screw the bag, where can I buy a case. To Costco I go!