youngraven: (Default)

Bits of the last few days (and now) at random.

I lost my LJ client in the Vista upgrade; I've yet to decide whether I'm going to go and find another one.

NTIF went rather better (for me, at least), than last year. If you wish me to qualify that, then ask. Otherwise, we'll leave it at that.

Playing at Lola's on Saturday was fun. The ghost upstairs did not make an appearance, however. John B offered up this bit of wisdom for our consideration (Lola's being in the Stockyards, it seemed apropos): there're many people who needed shootin', but I ain't never met a horse who needed stealin'.


There are, truly, drunken men out in the world who search high and low for bodhranaí to chat up. The good news is, chances are he'll never recall any of it. :D

I should have had a good hard look in the mirror before I left the house this morning. By the unyielding light of the ladies', I am shown that I am somewhat inappropriately attired for the office.

Oops. At least I've got a cardie, yeh?

Tomorrow night's the big do with myself, John B, and 'Fiddle Boy Mikey' (I did not bestow upon him that monicker; I refer to him as 'Mike from Portland', 'cos his surname, I cannot pronounce. :D) down Ye Olde Bull and Bush. I've posted about it at Facebook and Myspace, but I've not done here. Off to remedy that.

youngraven: (suffer)
We were all of us playing and minding our own business, when...


The large glass jar that we'd been using for tips fell from its perch on the railling by the piano and shattered over the stage floor behind me.

I might have remarked 'aah' at the sound, but mostly I recall Ken's startled face. It was well, startled. John suggested that I check I hadn't got a shard or two of glass embedded in the back of my head. Luckily, I'd managed to escape unscathed. I snapped a photo of some of the resulting debris.

Here, behind this cut. )

Truth be told, I don't know exactly how it happened. Judging by the bits of glass on the piano and John's remark, it must have tipped over, fallen against the piano, and the impact caused it to shatter, rather than it merely dropping to the ground. I didn't see it happen, so it'll remain a mystery.

But it's never a dull moment there, really.
youngraven: (suffer)
Me: /unzips case/ Well, Caitrín - it's time.
Bodhrán: Nrrrrgh
Me: Come on a storín, we've got to play now.
Bodhrán: Cad é? Eff off.
Me: Caitrín, people are watching us - it's only for a few hours.
Bodhrán: Sleepy. 's hot as the divil here.
Me: /frantically tightening head/ Ah, for fuck's sake.
Bodhrán: Perhaps you could pound at your chair instead.

Translation: my bodhrán was loose and floppy and gave me fits for three hours this afternoon. I was spoilt by my previous one, Mallory, who seemed impervious to the air round her. This one...isn't. The slightest hint of damp in the air renders her bleeding unconscious. She's a kangaroo by birth, thus she'd likely be happier in a desert.

Erm...alright, I thought too long about that last bit and now I'm slightly disturbed by it. I mean, I know that many bodhráns are made, in part, out of things that are dead, but...sure, I'm thinking too hard on it now.

At any rate, this was the sort of seisiun in which I confess I breathed a sigh of relief when somebody else made a mistake - safety in numbers sort of thing. I'm coming to internalise that it happens - even to the really experienced players, and nobody's descended from on high to smite them out of existence, so.

So an amusing thing happened today. The seisiun time today was a bit earlier than usual, so as is my wont I'd been fretting about arriving on time. When I'm accustomed to something happening at a specific time, I often fall into a sort of...I don't know how to describe it, but I sort of switch off and let the corpus find its own way there sort of thing. So when something changes, I've really got to pay attention - or at least I convince myself I do. At any rate, when I walked into the pub, I noticed that nobody of us was there but for myself. Ken had warned me that perhaps something could change, and as I'd been out most of last night, I got nervous and phoned him.

Trinity Hall is a noisy place - it merely is. That's part of its character, the noise. The space in front of Trinity Hall is a noisy place as well. Thus, I thought it really unlikely that I'd heard Ken utter the word 'asshole' in the midst of disjointed (again noise and two mobiles) little chat. I thought to myself 'sure, he never said that - 'cos why should he do? I never phoned him to ask an entirely stupid question'. He assured me that nothing had changed, I went back inside, and fought with the WIFI network there for entirely too long.

A few moments later, Ken wanders in under the weight of his gear ('s the trouble with people who play more than one instrument - you've only two hands ever, have you? This shite's bleeding heavy), and I think that perhaps I should be helping him to set us up rather than pissing about on the Internet. So I do.

He pauses for a moment, looks and me and says 'did I say anything...bad to you when you phoned'? I started to laugh and said 'you might have done'. I honestly thought I'd misheard him what with the ambient din (and his usually tidy speech), but no. Something had happened on his drive to the pub that moved him to curse at another driver. He realised when he rang off with me that 'asshole' was the likely the last thing I'd heard him say.

Good times. :D

(Right, so if you know him - don't tell him I wrote about it in my blog, please?)
youngraven: (cuppa)
So, I'm flipping a coin in my head as to whether I should go to Trinity Hall and gawk at the Sunday seisiun. I'd be on my own, as [ profile] shaddowshoes has just embarked on a week-long business excursion to KC. Any of youse in Kansas City? Leave a comment in his livejournal, as he'll be at loose ends himself. I'm sure he'd love a chance to meet and natter at somebody other than his work mates.

Everybody here, think fondly on him - as it's an opportunity he's been given, and we'd really be pleased if the railway would ask him to stay on as an employee proper rather than a contractor. the seisiun begins in...nearly a quarter hour, and I look a fright, and the house is a tip, but it isn't as though I'll not have almost an entire week's worth of nights to myself to Piss About the House, so...I think I'll be putting myself together and wandering over to Trinity Hall for the ceol agus craic. I'm suspecting there'll be more ceol than craic, but.

And...oh - [ profile] turtliewings, I'm keen for swimming this wednesday. Your natatorium or mine, I don't mind which it is. Only if it's mine, it's half an hour later, mind.

According to the Which Accent Have You meme (I wandered away from the page without copying the code - oh well), it's Northeastern. As I do come from the east coast, at least it's close. My work mates think I sound Canadian. /shrug/

Well, if I'm off to anywhere, I'd best haul my carcass from this bench and into proper attire.
youngraven: (Mr Shamoose)
...with giving myself a list of topics is that at the time, I'd a clear notion of what I might write about.

Pause for brief, silent lecture against the evils of procrastination.

Ha, I say that, but it really only takes a few moments for me to lose my point on days when my brain has got holes in. At any rate, I'd had something entirely other planned for the previous entry - something that might have even skirted the edges of public introspection (shockhorror). So much for that, eh?

I'll talk about the soiree instead.

Yes, there was one, and yes it was grand. I'll admit to being a bit tired and a bit subdued that night, and then I'll blame that on the steady march of time. By half-eleven that night, I longed to make my exit and crawl into my bed. I think I managed that at last at half three in the morning. I remained remarkably sober, so that goes to show you that it's possible. I don't piss my brains out every time we have a do at Orion Rising.

Pauses to gloat for a moment.

My mates are of the opinion that I do often render myself paralytic, and thus I was given no fewer than six bottles of whiskey as gifts (five bottles of the Black Bush, and one of the Clontarf Single Malt). So, you can imagine my aggravation when, upon waking the next morning, I had five bottles of whiskey. Five. I counted. Now then, had it been that a group of people had taken it upon themselves to open said bottle and put it away amongst the lot of them, sure that would have been no trouble at all - it's why it's there. Only I'd have discovered the remains of that the next day (well, unless the poor bastard was so much in his cups that he buried the evidence in the back garden - I suppose if a still sprouts in the next few months, I'll know that this has what has occurred. Have I mentioned that plants hate me?).

Sure, I had it to spare - this isn't about gluttony at all, rather it's about asking me before collecting up something that was given to me and taking it off home. I'd not have said 'no', only I wasn't given the chance to consider it - and now I'm left to wonder who of them I shouldn't be trusting. Orgh. It's a small thing, really, and I know it.

On a mostly unrelated topic, if you find you've nowhere at all to be on the 11th from 3.00pm until 6.00pm, then you can come and gawk at me at Trinity Hall. I promise I'll not lob a cipín at you (not intentionally, at any rate).
youngraven: (Oops)


I turned my back on her for a moment, and she scarpered. I'm sure she had assistance, as bodhráns (being inanimate objects) haven't got legs.


So, I'll be lurking about in pawn shops near to Gilligan's with the hopes that the bloody moronic crack fiend thieving amadan poor unfortunate soul who saw fit to borrow her decided that she'd be happier at one of them.

youngraven: (wish)
It never fails - I write about half of my holiday as it's occurring, and the rest of it some days later. You know, when most of it has scarpered out of my head and up a very tall tree. To guide me, I've copied my sister's entry - it isn't plagiarism if you change it round (ha).

Click me, I command you )
Ah, and look - we've come to the end of it, haven't we?

Peace out, slan go foill, and mind the gap youse.

* a punter is a person who comes to listen to a seisiun, sort of an NPC for all of you gaming lot.
youngraven: (Default)
Walking backwards thro' the last few days...

Christ on a bike, I’ve been busy )

I can hear [ profile] typsygypsy snorting with laughter right now.


youngraven: (Default)

April 2013

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