sometimes I despair

Take a look at the photos below. What do you see?

It's beautiful, isn't it? I love where I live - The grass is green, the sea is blue, the hills are beautiful, the North Antrim Coastline is jutting out like a classic Hollywood jawline and all is well with the world.

So why? In the name of all that is honest and good, why? Who would drive up to a natural vantage point from where you can look down across the Bann Valley to the Antrim Plateau, where you can look out across the ocean over Mussenden Temple, where you can watch the sun setting behind the rugged hills of Donegal - who would go there to dump a dirty great bin bag full of more underwear than anyone could possibly own. Why?

governmental revolving door

US Attorney General Alberto Gonzales, embroiled in a row over the sacking of eight US attorneys, has formally announced his resignation.

And so President GWB delivers his daily tribute to another departing ally. If the White House gets any emptier the Youth Hostel Association would be advised to see if they can't make use of some of the space.

President Bush said he had accepted the resignation reluctantly. He praised his old friend as “a man of integrity, decency and principle” and complained of the “months of unfair treatment” that preceded the resignation. It’s sad,” Mr. Bush said, asserting that Mr. Gonzales’s name had been “dragged through the mud for political reasons.”

Mr Gonzales left under a little bit of a cloud - rumour has it that he tended to sack federal prosecutors for political reasons - who doesn't? oh, and rumour goes that he lied under oathe - I often oathe under my lies. Then rumour has it he authorised secret phone tapping - but then all phone tapping should be secret, it's more effective that way. Then there's that other rumour that he wrote a memo to GWB suggesting that the war on terror was a special one that didn't need to pay too much attention to something as old fashioned as the Geneva Convention - oh, and theres the rumour about how he adjusted the rules governing prisoners at Guantanamo Bay. I have to admit I don't think Mr Gonzales is someone I could have made polite conversation with over a pint.

Having said that, as someone who also finds himself out of work, I can highly recommend a wide range of daytime TV. Perhaps Donald Rumsfeld, Karl Rove, Paul Wolfowitz and the rest of the guys can drop by and form a daytime poker group. Just one thing though, would the last one out of the Bush administration please turn off the lights.

painting the world green

I was just checking up on my progress in the world domination thing. It seems I’m doing ok but there are still huge areas of white out there. I know the holiday period is almost over but if anyone does happen to be visiting Africa, Greenland or Russia – perhaps you booked a romantic weekend in Argentina, or a relaxing fortnight in the Middle East - pay this blog a quick visit while you’re there. A greener world is a happier world.

found guilty of first degree snobbery

I was out shopping today. It’s not something I often do for pleasure but I was at a loose end and I was passing Junction One Retail Park so I dropped in. I didn’t actually buy more than a large Soya Latte and an orange muffin but it was a pleasant enough time.

As I was making my way out of Starbucks I literally bumped into two rather short, stocky, hairless young men with strong Belfast accents. They each had identical Barönjon suit carriers in their hands and my first thought was “I wonder which of them will be in the dock” It is an appalling stereotype that a Belfast man wearing a suit must be on his way to court but I am ashamed to say I couldn’t help myself.

Of course I immediately rebuked myself – out loud – much to the amusement of a teenage girl smoking outside the adidas store. I can be such a snob at times – a flaw in my personality I would love to be able to remedy. The fact that they were buying matching suits could surely, and more likely, be because one of them was getting married and the other was to be the best man. Maybe they were just good friends who enjoyed shopping together and who shared a love of nice suits.

Of course just because something is a stereotype doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I reckon 9 months, suspended because of the nice suits

I’d recommend pleasant

Don’t you love little coincidences? Tiny little details that make you wonder about the pattern of human existence. Maybe that’s reading a little much into them – but they make us smile and so must be good.

Today I was passing an enjoyable hour or two watching old movies. I’m a big fan of Stewart, Grant, Hepburn (both of them), Bogart, Tracey and the gang. In my opinion if a film was made in black and white (due to necessity rather than choice) it cannot be a bad film. It can be quirky, offbeat, eccentric, unique… but not bad.

As I laughed my way through a film from 1950, Harvey, one particular quote struck me. It struck me as being a little old fashioned – but also struck me as a little bit true.

Years ago my mother used to say to me, she’d say, ‘In this world Elwood, you must be’… she’d always call me Elwood… ‘In this world Elwood you must be oh so smart or oh so pleasant.’ Well for years I was smart; I’d recommend pleasant. You may quote me.

This is where the coincidence occurs. As soon as I’d finished the film I popped into Ballymoney to buy a newspaper. As I got out of my car I met a young man wearing a t-shirt bearing the slogan, “I’ll be a bit nicer if you’ll be a bit smarter.”

So then I really started thinking about the philosophy of these quotes. These days we get so caught up in the pursuit of happiness that we have little time to work on our niceness. You see it pays us to be smart – we get good exam results, we get good jobs, we can feel superior to people who don’t operate on the same intellectual plain as ourselves, make fun of people who don’t understand the basic concept of grammar – it’s good to be smart. Being pleasant, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to benefit us at all.

Harvey and I sit in the bars... have a drink or two... play the juke box. And soon the faces of all the other people they turn toward mine and they smile. And they're saying, "We don't know your name, mister, but you're a very nice fella." Harvey and I warm ourselves in all these golden moments.

I like to think of myself as pleasant. People who know me and have witnessed me being cruel, nasty and plain rude may differ but in general I try to be a decent fella who’d do whatever he could for whoever needed it. Sometimes I do go out of my way to help people. Sometimes people think I’m being taking advantage of – that I’m sacrificing my own needs for people who really don’t appreciate it. The thing is… well, I don’t think I am. I like helping people. I don’t do it to feel appreciated, I don’t do it to further my image somehow, I don’t even do it as some kind of karmic exercise. I do it because I enjoy doing it, and I enjoy feeling useful, and I enjoy the feeling I get when I am able to make somebody’s life a little easier.

And I’m not the only one. There are many people out there who go much much further than I do. I know lots of them. I know a lot of people who are both smart and pleasant. They have the best of both worlds but seem to appreciate the value of being… well, nice. I consider several of them friends and, despite occasionally being nasty to them, I admire them.

There are people in the public eye as well. Take that movie, Harvey. Another of my odd little idiosyncrasies is the way I’ll pick out someone in a film, a small character who may only be on screen for seconds, and need to know what happened to that actor. In moments like this I thank God for IMDB.com. While watching Harvey it was Nurse Kelly (Peggy Dow) that caught my attention. I can’t remember seeing her in anything else. It turns out that this is understandable as she wasn’t in very much else. Despite showing huge promise and acting range Dow dropped out of the limelight after making only four or five movies. She dropped out voluntarily to marry and start a family.

This promising 1950s Universal contract player had so much going for her - beauty, brains and talent - to go the distance, but she came up far short after deciding to retire for domestic life.

While other members of the cast were going on to win awards and critical acclaim for film after film, Dow was in Tulsa raising her five sons, babysitting her twelve grandkids and doing a lot of charity work. She did get an award herself – she was given an honorary degree from the University of Oklahoma for her devotion to improving health care education and cultural events in Tulsa. I would love to meet the woman. I want to know if she felt she would have become as successful as she did if she’d chosen the popular route. I would love to ask her if she felt it was nice to be important, or more important to be nice.

Always Fresh

People often ask me what I miss most about Canada. It’s one of those questions you ask in the midst of inane small talk – and one that is very difficult to answer. The obvious response would be the people – some of the friendliest, most caring, genuinely interesting people I know live above the 49th parallel. Another possible response might be the weather – it isn’t always raining and I, for one, love snow. I could say I miss the physical size of the place – the fact that it goes on and on beyond what the limits of my imagination would allow me to perceive. One thing I never thought I’d miss was the coffee. I used to hate that weak, cream laden tasteless muck they served in vast quantities.

I’ve just spent a few days travelling round the West Coast of Ireland with a good friend. We saw many sights, walked many walks, ate many meals and talked many talks. There are numerous tales to tell from such a short time but that can wait for another time. What occupies my mind right now is the fact that, as we were setting off to drive home, we passed a filling station – and in this filling station was something I haven’t seen since I left Canada some six years ago – A Tim Hortons Coffee Counter.

I used to work night shift in a Tim Hortons Coffee Shop on the corner of Northfield and Weber in a little place called Waterloo, Ontario. Not the most prestigious job I’ve ever had, nor the best paid – yet it was one of my favourites. The characters you meet in an all-night coffee shop are incredible. It is a unique experience. I loved it so much I still have the hideous uniform I had to wear. I’m not sure why I kept it – I’ll never fit in it again; I’m not sure I ever fitted in it back then. I also have an unopened tin of the coffee grains and a mug I never use. I am a hoarder – I admit that. Despite this I have an annual clearout where nothing is safe from my wrath – nothing except that coffee tin, that mug and that uniform.

It’s odd what forms your affectionate memories. I wish for me it were more earth shattering events. There are some major ones in there as well – I’m not that dull. But right up there are my memories of dipping donuts in chocolate, baking the bagels and serving large double doubles to the night shift crew from the nearby factories at 3am. The thing that I remember most, though, is the smell. The unique smell of Tim Hortons coffee that drove me sick at the time, but now I remember it as fondly as I remember the big yellow duck on wheels I used to run around with when I was a toddler. So when I walked into that filling station and my nose filled with that familiar odour… well, it’s a moment I’m not sure I can describe.

flashbacks

my little black gate

By weekday a teacher; by weekend a gate painter extraordinaire.

Do you find it odd that I take such pride in having painted the gate to a small field of potatoes a very dark brown colour? I'm not really sure why it feels so good myself - it just does.

It took far longer than I had anticipated, the paint is some evil concoction that is refusing to leave my arms despite lashings of turps and soap and it involved sitting in a rather large puddle of mud - but it's done and I think it looks good.

The sheep seemed impressed, and they ought to know their gates pretty well - they've escaped through them often enough.

Happy Birthday

Some 365 odd days ago I sat down to write my first ever blog entry. It feels like a lot more. I have to admit that I only did it so a friend would stop pressuring me – It’s good to have friends who not only suggest new experiences for you but actually force you into them. I fully expected to write three or four entries, get bored and stop. That’s how things usually work with me; I have a short attention span. For years I kept diaries and journals – I still have them. In some cases I actuall made it as far as February, in others there’s a six month break before a couple more pages are added. That’s me – the king of good intentions.

But here I am after a year.

I realise that I haven’t written everyday – I know that, in some cases, I went weeks without adding anything; but I have written 174 entries, almost 64,000 words, of sometimes asinine, sometimes juvenile, sometimes irrelevant, sometimes completely misguided comment and opinion; that for me is an achievement. Consider my other current writing projects: A screenplay of which I am ridiculously proud; I completed scene 6 this week, I started it in 2003. Then there are the many lyrics I’ve written waiting for music and the music I’ve written waiting for lyrics. And there’s my novel, I just about have the title sorted. Oh, and my autobiography which I began when I was in 2S at Dalriada School (aged 12) – I have the first chapter sorted.

You get the idea.

This blog has amused me, I have enjoyed writing it – the biggest surprise to me is that there are people out there who read it. I know the vast majority of my readers stumble upon it during some random internet search (The search phrase that has brought the most visitors from google is “foot vasectomy” – there are people out there who want information about vasectomising their feet and they find my site! I can understand about all the men searching for revealing pictures of Sammy Winward and Kate Silverton – I even understand about the ones looking to join the Free Presbyterian Church, but foot vasectomies? As for the people who found me by typing it “Macosquin UDA” and “qualifications to become an astronaut” – they must have been severely disappointed. My personal favourite is whoever it was who came to this blog by asking “Where do I buy stab proof hoodies in Dublin?” if anyone sees them let them know I have a contact who’ll do them a good deal.) but I’d like to thank you all for dropping by.

This year has been an eventful one for me and the world. I’ve met a lot of awesome people, had some awful times, seen some amazing sights, given up all hope of ever owning a house, moved out of a job. One of my favourite moments of the year is actually related to this blog. It was when the Guardian quoted my comments on the death of Steve Irwin. Now I know a lot of you will be underawed by that but the idea that thousands of people could possibly have read something that I wrote - even if it was only two sentences - made me feel quite special. Will I still be writing this in a years time? I have no idea. Where will I be in a years time? Will I have the perfect job? I have no idea. All I can say is (DV) I will be talking about my 345th irrelevant post and my 128,000th asinine word.