Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Table For Two

Back when the Bear and I moved into our deadly new apartment, we soon realised that we were without a coffee table, (or tea table really, since neither of us actually drink coffee) and an upturned cardboard box held together with tape from the move would only do for so long.

So we bought this retro expandy table off eBay.


Then, seeing as I have something of a penchant (that's right, penchant) for old pictures of sexy ladies, we bought a heap of vintage magazine pictures of Greta Garbo, Jayne Mansfield, Carole Lombard, Sophia Loren and Brigitte Bardot, also from the Bay of E.


The whole lot was then handed over to the lovely people at Pre Loved Style, who we came across at the Dublin Flea Market. They got to work tarting up our table and lo!


We kept the colour (and as it happens, the slightly more nekkid) pictures for the middle panel underneath. So now I get to put my cup of tea on Bardot's bare bottom. Which not many people can say.


Plus it also has that fantastic photo of Sophia Loren giving Jayne Mansfield's rack the dirtiest look EVER.


Nice.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

The Hungriest Tree I Ever Did See

I do love a bit of frisbee in the park. And I'm quite a fan of the King's Inn park, off Bolton Street, for said frisbee throwing. It's a great spot seeing as it's normally pretty quiet and knack-free, plus the first time I was there was on my third date with the Bear. But best of all, it's got a magic bench.

You heard right, A MAGIC BENCH.

Look at it!

IT'S BEING EATEN BY A TREE!

Ah God it's great. I can't help making stupid "nyom nom nom" sounds when I go past it, it'd just be plain wrong not to really. I wonder how long it's taken it to eat this much of the bench. On the first day the bench was put there, did the tree think to itself; "Fuck this for a game of soldiers, I'm HAVING me some of that. GET IN MY WOODEN BELLY YOU TASTY BENCH."


Ha! I crack myself up.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Coupe du Monde '98

Football.

That's right, football.

I'd say that football has been mentioned...oh...about....NEVER on this blog. To the extent that I had to make a new Sport label for this post. However, with the World Cup fast approaching, everyone's getting into a frenzy with predictions for the final and which team they drew in the office sweepstakes (I got Serbia and Cameroon. Sake.) and after reading NotRuairi's great retrospective on where he was for each World Cup, I've decided to share the tale of how I once got to attend an ACTUAL WORLD CUP MATCH.

Oh yes.


In 1998, I spent one month of the summer in Lyon in France with my family, as my Dad was insistent on me and my brother having spectacular French, as well as wanting to improve his own. (I actually did have pretty kickass French once the Leaving Cert came around, but sadly most of it has escaped from my brain since then.) One evening, in the midst of all the Word Cup goings-on, there was a free outdoor concert on featuring a Belgian singer called Axelle Red and Chris Rea, of all people. Anyway, after we'd had enough of the songs in French and Rea singing stuff that wasn't Driving Home For Christmas, we retired to McDonald's for a go of their deadly brand new ice cream dessert, the McFlurry. It was all rather exciting to my thirteen year old self. Actually, considering how excited I still am by those milkshake shops that can make any flavour you want, it's safe to say not much has changed in that respect.

Seriously. It makes my teeth cry.

So there we were, happily making our way through every available variety of our futuristic ice cream and trying to figure out how the hell we'd go about getting to see one of the matches. It was at this point that a man I could only describe as shady leaned over from the next table and asked where we were from.

"You are Irish!? I like the Irish. I know how to get World Cup tickets..."

He proceeded to tell us how all we had to do was drive to a tiny post office in a tiny village and be there at 7 in the morning the next day. And in that very post office there would be tickets for sale at the counter. Now, while the guy himself seemed shady as fuck, the actual instructions seemed reasonable enough. So off we went the next morning in our rented car to the little Postman Pat village, and in that very post office we managed to buy four tickets to a match in Saint-√Čtienne...

IRAN vs YUGOSLAVIA

Boom. You may laugh, but it was Yugoslavia's first time in the World Cup, and for all anyone knew they could have been a superstar team of players (whose names ALL ended in "-vic"). Because they were the relative underdogs, we joined in the chants of "YU-GO-SLAVIA!" that reverberated around the stadium. It was fecking brilliant, there were at least three Mexican waves and the ball soared out from the pitch right towards me and my brother, but then some old guy in front of us stood up and managed to punch the ball directly back where it came from. The cunt. Anyway, Yugoslavia won 1-0 and we were at the end where the goal was scored in the second half. And it was only brilliant.

So concludes what is likely the only post that will ever mention football on this blog.

The end.

Wednesday, June 09, 2010

Raspberry Ripple


Hello people. You like your ears, don't you? They're pretty good to you, being all on the side of your head and not letting your sunglasses fall off your face and such, right? So give them a present and have a listen to The Dead Flags funktastic (I almost typed fucktastic there, but y'know, I think that works too) cover version of Prince's Raspberry Beret.

It's here (scroll down a bit in the music player) and it's fucking DELICIOUS.

Twist in the Tail


This is a little teapot/teacup combination dealy which I own. What I like about it is that the two gossiping ladies look like they have tails. I do realise that its actually some manner of nice twirly seat that they're sitting on, but I've decided that they have tails and that's it. I like it when people have tails. Not like inbred, mountain-folk type deformity tails, but proper big floofy tails like Squirrel Girl.

See? I didn't make her up.

Also, the whole people with tails thing reminds me of the super fascinating 19th century French actress Sarah Bernhardt. I do love me an eccentric old bird, and Sarah certainly delivers. She had a coffin she sometimes slept in and preferred to take on roles where the character died at the end. She also collected chairs and had six chameleons and a lion as pets at home. (What is it with these 19th century eccentrics and their big cats?)


Anyway, my favourite mad thing about Sarah is that she apparently asked a surgeon to attach a tiger tail to her spine, but he told her it was impossible. The jerk. How amazing would it have been to go see Hamlet and the leading man is not only actually a lady but has a freaking TAIL onstage? I would go see that. Anyway, it's probably not actually true, but I choose to ignore this fact and have decided it is. Just like my teapot ladies have tails and are NOT sitting on chairs.

Wednesday, June 02, 2010

Easy Rider

A few weeks ago, the Bear got a heads up on a casting call for an ad where they needed big hairy biker types. Now, the Bear isn't actually a biker (seeing as he doesn't have a bike) but could most certainly pull the look off with aplomb. That's right, APLOMB. He had two days to get his act together and dress the part for casting day, which meant I spent a Wednesday rifling through charity shops from Capel Street to Camden Street, in the search for Things A Biker Might Wear. The coolest thing I found, by a long shot, was this belt buckle for a fiver. A fiver I tells ya!


I also found the Harley Davidson bandana in the photo, which he keeps threatening to wear in real life. In fact, he had actually been threatening to get one for a while instead of a haircut, but I wouldn't let him. I've since begun to wonder whether the entire thing was a scam for him to get a bandana.

The crafty bastard.
 
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