Saturday, September 24, 2011
Thursday, September 22, 2011
I seem to know an awful lot about R.E.M. for someone who doesn't particularly like them. But they're just one of those bands that lay down their grooves unbidden on the soundtrack of one's life. "Stand in the place where you live!" I sing to Data as we perform the ritual morning dance of dressing and brushing. "Please, please stop singing, Daddy," she responds. When Riker was a toddler, I used to wake her from her morning nap with their cover of 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight'. She doesn't remember this, but I'm sure it will all come rushing back under hypnosis. Many a self-involved wallowing has been deepened, with blatant disregard to the actual point of the song, to the strains of 'Everybody Hurts.' That track also makes me think of MIchael Douglas. No prize whatsoever to anyone who can work that one out.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Friday, September 16, 2011
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Hi. My name is MichelleM. How can I help you today?
Hi MichelleM. My name is Gimme.
And how can I help you today, Gimme?
I'm not sure if you can, MichelleM.
I can certainly try. What seems to be the problem?
I am sad, MichelleM. I am very, very sad.
I see. What seems to be the problem?
A little depressed.
How can I help?
To be honest I think I'm experiencing all seven of Kubler-Ross's stages of grief. Simultaneously.
Is this to do with your O2 account, Gimme?
What seems to be the problem?
It's my iPhone, MichelleM.
What seems to be the problem with your iPhone?
I left it in the studio for like five minutes and some fucker swiped it.
I'll have to ask you to refrain from coarse language, Gimme.
That's okay. So your phone was stolen?
I can block your phone from here.
Thank you. Can you make it explode in their thieving mitts, leaving them with bloodied burnt stumps where their hands used to be? Like in Iran? But technoligacallier?
Isn't that kind of racist?
Perhaps it's a feature you could consider adding. People would probably pay a little extra for that kind of thing.
I will pass on your suggestion.
Do you have insurance?
I do not. I don't believe in insurance.
You don't believe in it?
I think there's something weird and wrong about laying a wager on one's own misfortune.
Oh. I see from your account that you are not due for an upgrade until 07/12. But you can get a free replacement sim card in any O2 store or I can have one sent to your address. You will able to use this in most phones.
Okay. How much will a new iPhone 4 cost?
If you purchase online it will cost €697.
I said if you purchase online it will cost €697.
How about if I purchase offline?
If you buy from an O2 store it will cost €729.
I thought it might be less.
I can't afford that.
Yes. I'm sure a friend or relation has a phone that you could use until your upgrade status changes.
You're probably right.
Is there anything else I can help you with today?
I don't think so.
Would you like me to post you a replacement sim card?
No, thank you, I'll go to a shop.
Okay. Have a good day. Goodbye.
I just had an idea.
What is your idea?
Lots of iPhones get stolen, right?
I suppose they do.
And then the thieving bastards wipe them and sell them to people for cheap, right?
So all I have to do is find someone to sell me a cheap stolen iPhone, meet him, smash his face to a sticky pulp, and take the iPhone.
I'm not sure that's such a good idea.
I know what you're thinking, MIchelleM. It's unlikely that that would be my iPhone, or the guy who stole my iPhone. But it would be like a kind of karma. The circle of life, if you will. Have you seen The Lion King?
Did you like it?
I would advice against this course of action, Gimme.
But it was your idea!
No it wasn't.
Okay, well you gave me the idea. And you like The Lion King. So on some level you approve.
I don't. I would advise against this course of action.
Okay, sure. You have to say that. They probably have some corporate monster standing over your shoulder checking on everything you write. I understand.
I just don't think it's a very good idea, Gimme.
Is there anything else I can help you with?
I'm not going to do that. I'll just get a phone off someone else until my upgrade. *wink*.
Is there anything else I can help you with, Gimme?
No, that's it. *wink*
Okay. Have a good day. Gimme. Goodbye.
I'll have a 'smashing' day, MichelleM. *wink* Thanks for all your help. And ideas.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Monday, September 5, 2011
I have political rage. Contracted at the age of 22 when I finally began paying attention to current affairs, the condition has steadily worsened over time. Symptoms include uncontrolled high-pitched shrieking at radios, televisions and computer screens, mistrust of every adult human on the basis of the doubtlessly accurate assumption that they have, at one time or another, exercised their democratic rights in a way that would displease me, and the occasional ill-conceived, poorly planned and ultimately unsuccessful attempt at Lord Mayoral assassination.
You will be relieved to hear that I have begun a self-devised course of treatment. A minimum of one episode of The West Wing per day, ideally taken in conjunction with the calming ritual of clothes folding. And it's working. Cycling through our ex-leafy suburb on the way to our new ghettoland I spied Gerry Breen crossing the street towards his 11 D Bike Basher. I did not swerve to hit him. I did not swerve to hit his car. I did not even shout 'You fascist fuck' at him. I merely breathed a deep breath, pictured Rob Lowe's cheeky cheekbones and pedaled on.
There are some side effects. My sensitive side has emerged from its long hibernation. The simplest of political compromises forced upon Josh induce a pronounced welling. The death of CJ's bodyguard boyfriend had me wracked with sobs. And when President Bartlet's daughter Zoey was kidnapped the Bridge Crew spent 24 hours fending off my weeping embraces.
Next we have my newly shaped Toby Ziegler goatee. Last week, as I tackled my holiday face ferret, I found myself holding back from the final coup de grace. My poised hand paused before my careworn upper lip and seemed to say "You too can be grumpy and wise..."
"Really?" I riposted.
"Really. I mean, you've got grumpy covered, right?"
"Why not add wise?"
"Having a goatee will make me wise?"
"Fine. It'll make you look wise."
"You don't think that, given the masisvity of my hair, it won't just make me look a poorly appointed Luke Kelly tribute act?"
"There is that risk. But as you've been hacking at your face for half an hour already it's most likely worth a bash.'
"True, naked puppet, true."
So now I have a Toby goatee. Here's hoping that the next time my hand is holding a razor it doesn't attempt to complete the look, because folks, for all my failings, at least I am not bald.
The final side effect. Last Sunday I spent four solid hours perfecting my Martin Sheen jacket donning. And while I'm pretty sure that I now have the technicalities down, there remains a nagging doubt as to my ability to carry off the air of nonchalance that seems so essential to the practice. I don't know. Maybe I've got it. It's really just my insistence on gathering the family around me as witnesses every time that I put on a coat or cardy that makes me think that I may just have a little ways to go.
But rest easy. All these by products of my new televisual diet are worth it. To verbatimally quote Orwell: 'He had won the victory over himself. He loved Big Enda.'