Events of 2002:Monday 31st December 2001A friend of mine called Nadia called over to see me today from Los Angeles. Which was nice. Tonight we watched a live U2 concert from Boston, and played Connect 4, the "vertical strategy game". However, that wasn't enough for us, so we invented a new version called "Fail to Connect 3", where the loser is whoever connects 3 first. Some might argue that I have too much free time, but I would just nod and smile. Tuesday 8th January 2002Nadia and I left for Paris today. Very exciting. She decided she wanted to spend a few days in London first, though, so that's where we're going right now. Friday 11th January 2002Paris wasn't much better. The whole place is so very French. I know I should have expected it, but I had an idea at the back of my head that the whole "French" thing was just a front, and that they spoke English when they were alone, or at home. This turned out to not be the case. Even the Chinese people over there only talk French. Everyone smokes, too. Even the waiter who brought our food on the Sunday night, one hand under the tray, the other hand, a cigarette. The whole city is one big smoking section. 
Nadia and myself in Paris. Sunday 13th January 2002The Mona Lisa is smaller than you think it is. But the Louvre is big. It has four entrances, but no apparent exits. It soon became obvious that there were no exits at all, apparent or otherwise. The rebuttal of the security guard upon being asked if we could leave through an entrance did nothing to assuage our fear that we were stuck in a Sartre play. We were, however, not alone, as we kept meeting small clumps of people who were also looking for the exit. Even if they were all going in the opposite direction. Monday 14th January 2002The Eiffel Tower is bigger than you think it is. We only made it as far as the second floor, which was far enough. There doesn't seem to be any security there at all, which is nice, because, let's face it, if you have to off someone, that's the place. A bag of golfballs, four hundred feet, and a clear view of the pedestrians below. A winning combination. Monday 15th April 2002Yesterday, I went for a drive to the beach with three friends of mine. As we are all men, we thought it would be a good idea to climb on the rocks. It was easy enough to start with; it wasn't so much climbing on rocks as around them. Then Killian lost his glasses. Actually, after a particularly soul-filled leap, F. had grabbed Killian's head and knocked his glasses into about five feet of freezing April sea. It took us some time to retrieve the glasses, during which we failed to notice our original path slowly being covered by ten feet of water. We were not yet worried. That would come later. The main thrust of the afternoon had become reaching the beach without getting wet. About two hours later, this thrust had changed to reaching the beach at all. There were a series of four small inlets, all covered in sucking surf, and a water level that oscillated between three feet to eight feet in a matter of unpredicable increments of seconds. None of us can swim. Will we be forced to sleep on this cold, rocky place, I thought: will they hear me snore? The first rescue vehicle of which we were made aware was a small truck with Cliff Rescue written on it. This turned out to be a misnomer, as the equipment that they would normally use to winch us up was "in Dublin, being repaired". Filled with a renewed sense of cynicism, we then saw a boat approaching from the mainland, and sighed wearily. A few minutes later, a brand new Sikorsky helicopter came over the horizon and then swung around. The lady in the boat radioed the helicopter to tell them that we were OK and they were not needed. The pilot seemed pleased, although it's hard to tell from two hundred yards away when they're wearing those helmets. We had to sign our names in a little book in the boathouse. As we were all still in shock, we signed our real names. There was a map on the wall, covered in little red pins, and one green one and one blue one. She explained that the map was a record of all their rescues, and the red pins were people who were dead by the time they were pulled out of the water. She seemed very happy that we were alive, although faintly displeased that we had interrupted an episode of "Seventh Heaven" Wednesday 24th April 2002The preparations have begun for the general election in May. People promising things, pretending like a vote for X is in someway going to make a difference from a vote for Y. At the moment, they're trying to build a rubbish dump right in the middle of four organic farms, one of which does great work with special needs children and adults. One of the people running Camphill (for that is the name) told me that the only way they could get the County Manager to tell the truth was to take him to court and do him for perjury. As it stands, the Compulsory Purchase Orders haven't even been posted out yet, but Waterford Council and Kilkenny Council are already factoring the new dump into their plans. These people are scum. They lie and they cheat and they steal, and they have no idea what democracy is. They should be fucked, broken, and driven across the land like poisonous maggots. Don't vote. It only encourages them. Sunday 2nd June 2002I went to a wedding in west Limerick yesterday. I don't know where they found the church, but it couldn't have been more hidden if they painted it in camouflage colours. Add to that the twisted and tortuous route we were given with the invitation, and the fact that there were two men in the car, making it twice as unlikely that those directions would be followed correctly, and you've got a volatile combination that even heroin can't take the edge off. We finally arrived at the reception afterwards (being held 14 miles away) and to greet us they had champagne and goat's cheese things. So that included me right out. Never eat goat's cheese. I thought there was something wrong with mine, but apparently all goat's cheese tastes like something died in it. Then there was a bunch of speeches and people laughing and joking. I hate that type of goings-on. OK, so you got married. Don't labour the point. The bride and groom eventually found my makeshift stall at the end of the hall where I was offering 5/4 odds that the marriage wouldn't last more than five years. I also had a number of customers asking for odds on one year, and ten years. Oddly, no one wanted to put money on the marriage lasting 'forever'. Apparently, this is 'insulting' and they would have preferred if I didn't gamble on their future. I regarded this as an attack on my entrepreneurial spirit and a violation of civil liberties, not to mention various free trade agreements. However, it was brought to my attention (by the bride's sister, who I could understand a lot better because she wasn't crying) that to legally do this I would need a license from the government. The decision to flee came suddenly. Brian was talking to a nun, and, amusingly, kept referring to her by name in conversation as 'Nun'. I grabbed him and explained the terrible disparity between the length of our welcome and our continued presence. On the way home there were a lot of police - roadblocks, speedchecks ... I've never seen so many cops. To my already fragile state of mind, this came as a shock. Brian had been drinking (not much, but we have to maintain standards) and so he told me to drive home, even though I have no full license and I'm not insured for his car. I have only driven an automatic once before in my life, and that was under extreme circumstances at 3 o'clock in the morning, so that doesn't count. I kept looking for the clutch and my foot kept smacking into the floor. Then there was the more familiar brake / accelerator confusion. All under the watchful gaze of the law enforcement officers from the wonderful county of Limerick. Well, I thought, it can't get much worse. That's when the "most destructive lightening storm for years" (according to Met Eireann the following morning) started up. Great flashes, driving rain and rolling thunder (this morning I found out that 6,000 homes had been left without electricity as a result of the lightening strikes).
Saturday 14th JulyI saw a kid wearing a t-shirt that had "Jesus is a c***" written on it. Except it didn't have any asterisks. I made the point to the little punk (he had pointy hair and was small) that his alleged act of rebellion was betrayed by his use of the present tense, as though Jesus were still a going concern, and the only problem was that the punk didn't get along with him. I suggested a far more revolutionary and rebellious legend would be "Jesus was a nice man", a simple enough grammar adjustment, denying both his divinity and his currency without offending the idiomatic nature of the slogan, and without the distraction of an unnecessary expletive. I don't think that he fully understood my point. Monday 12th August 2002I seem to have a new car. I always promised myself I wouldn't but a new car until I passed my driving test. However, having just failed for the third time, I have resigned myself to a life of driving on the edge of the justice system. The latest failure was due to a chronic case of "insufficient observation when changing lanes". What the hell does that mean? Well, I know what it means - but to fail me on it. Geez. They tell you to look in the mirrors a lot - I did! I was so busy looking in those mirrors I nearly crashed into a ... O.K. Point taken. However, this new car is great. It's a Volkswagen Golf. Hey, if it's good enough for Hitler, it's good enough for me! It's got electrically-operated this, power-assisted that, and fully automatic the other. Which is nice. Perhaps the greatest kick of them all is the super-cool key, which flicks out from its little rubber housing at the touch of a button. Now all I have to do is pass my test. Grr. Monday 19th August 2002I seem to have an electric guitar. I always promised myself I wouldn't buy an electric guitar until I mastered the acoustic. However, that clearly isn't going to happen in my life-time, so now I have a noise machine, with an amp the size of a pear. There is a plan. The plan is that I get good on it some time soon and then go on tour with my loyal band, the Rock Solids. Eventually, the constant stream of groupies and drugs mean that we break up due to "a technical error", and I spend the rest of my days entertaining the youth as a screwed-up has-been on my own reality TV show. Hmm. The plan may need tweaking. I'll hand you that. Monday 9th September 2002For the week that's in it, I decide on a new opening joke: "So, anyway, these two aeroplanes fly into a building..." There's no ending to that joke, you see *. Just say the line, wait for the apprehensive gasps, and then just move on to something else. I love trying out new material on the road. I was always extremely ambivalent about stand-up comedy - the arrogant assumption that not only am I a funny guy, but all of you have to find me amusing too. I have a terrible memory, and so I never memorised any jokes. I just made stuff up as I went along. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it fell completely flat. In either case, it would surely have been obvious that I had no organisation or method. Maybe you just have to see me on stage. For instance, a common source of "observational" humour, I gather, is to say "Oh you know the way X happens?" and everyone giggles in quiet acknowledgement of the public revelation of a private connection we all share. That never happens to me! Whenever I try that, I am the only person in the room to whom that stuff happens! Example: Once I said, "Have you ever bought a video (this was some time ago), and never watched it, but if that same movie comes on TV some months later, you'll sit through the ad breaks just to finish watching it?" Apparently I'm alone there. Example 2: "Have you ever looked for something to eat at three o'clock in the morning, checked the fridge, had a look around some other places, and then returned to the fridge in the hopes that something new might have materialised there?" More silence. Stand-up made me feel lonely. Maybe I should have taken up carpentry or something instead. *Update 2003: A friend of mine called Bernard just gave me the best ending for that joke, the obvious-in-retrospect "Boom boom!"
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