DarrenByrne.com

The Irishman Who Could has struck again with his new comic strip doodle strip. First there was Garlfield Minus Garlfield. Now we have doodlepipski.

Be sure to check out Travors’ Blog and Garfield Minus Garfield too.

Yesterday evening, I met with the other volunteers for the Dublin Writers Festival. The event runs from 11th to 15th June and this year is privileged enough to have writers of such calibre as Tom Stoppard, Ian Rankin, Colin Bateman, J.P. Donleavy, David McWilliams among others.

Part of my duties will involve collecting writers from the airport, making sure they are happily settled, collecting tickets at the events and being a general dogsbody, which I am really looking forward to. Inspired by the unstoppable and ever-volunteering Darragh Doyle, I felt the urge to be more involved in the many events which grace our capital and this is one festival I was looking forward to, so I threw my hat in the ring.

Last night, I finally got to meet organiser Lean Ní Chleirigh, along with festival Jack Gilligan and Maura Carty(I think that’s right – but I may be corrected) of the Dublin City Arts Council. We were all made feel extremely welcome and were treated to a couple of post-meeting drinks in Grainger’s on the bottom (or is it top?) of Talbot Street.

Among the attendees was a crazed American woman who, surpisingly, I look forward to meeting again. She has been so many places and seen so many things that she can’t help but be interesting. Liana Ciaglo is the Director of Performing Arts at Bay Path College in Massachusetts and she immediately had my attention when she spoke of seeing Les Liaisons Dangereuses recently in New York. Apparently an ex-student of hers is performing in the play. Choderlos de Laclos’ Les Liaisons Dangereuses is probably my favourite novel and both Cruel Intentions and Dangerous Liaisons rank high on my top twenty list of favourite films. Christopher Hampton’s Dangerous Liaisons is still one of the greatest plays I have seen performed in Dublin. So, I suspect I will have some riveting conversations with this born again Buddhist. Roll on the metaphysical debates.

Dublin Writers Festival 2008

This year’s festival, as with previous years, seems to be flying in under the radar, so I would encourage anyone who reads this to check out the Festival Website and come along to any event that grabs your attention. Personally, I am eagre to hear Tom Stoppard, author of the incredible Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead, a funny and existentialist examination of Hamlet’s bit players on the outskirts of the Shakespearean tragedy.

Sunday afternoon sees a discussion of Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels, with Victoria Glendinning, John Mullan and Bruce Arnold in attendance. As I’m sure is the case with many people, Gulliver’s Travels is one of the first books I remember reading and the fantastic journey Gulliver embarked upon – the characters he met and the places he saw – was wonderful to read.

Ivana Bacik, David MacWilliams, Roy Foster and Alan Gilsenan with debate values in modern Irish society on Thursday night. This promises to be a lively and informative evening and you will definitely see me there.

The Festival will also be graced by the presence of John Boyne (The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas), Tobias Wolff (This Boys Life), poets Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin and Harry Clifton, Booker-shortlisted author Sebastian Barry, ‘chick lit’ bestseller Marian Keyes, great-granddaughter of Sigmund Freud and author of Hideous Kinky, Esther Freud, and many others, culminating with a discussion between two prolific crime and thriller writers Ian Rankin and Colin Bateman. Rankin, who has written a number of novels such as the Inspector Rebus novels has had much of his work transferred to the small screen. So, too has Bateman with Divorcing Jack getting a big screen outing in 1998.

Pick up a Festival brochure, log on to the website or just drop me a mail if you want to find out more about this excellent event.

That young couple were sitting at the front of the bus again yesterday and I may need to correct my previous estimations of his age. I was reasonably confident that he was no more than 16 years of age as he fondled and fooled with his young future bridezilla, but I see that he has grown some facial hair since I last saw him. This patchwork of follicles make it very clear that he is far older and not a young teen at all. He’ll certainly have no problems getting served in the bars now. Twat!

Okay, I know I occasion a semi-beard and certainly went a year will a full grown bush on my face, but I’m confident I can pull it off. Why, oh why do people try to grow these things when all they are likely to achieve is something resembling Team America’s master of disguise, Gary. If you are going to look like your friends threw an open bottle of glue and a gerbil at you then this is not a look for you (although why someone might throw an open bottle of glue and a gerbil at you is beyond me. In fact, if you have friends who are likely to throw an open bottle of glue and a gerbil at you, then you may want to stop concentrating on growing a beard and focus on getting some new friends instead). Kids, bum fluff on your face does not make you look older, it does not make you look more mature, it does not give you an air of mystery. Kids, bum fluff on your face makes you look like you have bum fluff on your face. That’s it!

Anyway, on a different note, The Sugar Club are running the Rocky Horror Picture Show on Friday 13th and a friend of mine suggested we go. It’s a dressy-uppy thing, so Dublin City Centre may be invaded by suspender-wearing, fishnet-adorned, wig-wielding oddballs for a time(warp). It should be fun and I think a few of us will be going. Although, I suspect our group are more likely to be seen dressed as Brad or Janet rather than Frank or Magenta.

The beautiful people in Devious Theatre in Kilkenny are hoping their next production won’t be derailed by controversies. They are being highly ambitious by taking on Irving Welsh’s Trainspotting. It’s a huge and brave undertaking and I can’t wait to get down to see it.

For those of you whose heads were in the sand in 1996, Trainspotting charts the development of Renton’s drug addiction in recession stricken Scotland. Famously played by Ewan McGregor on film, the now exam-free Ross Costigan is currently immersing himself in the character. Let’s hope he doesn’t take the method acting technique too seriously. Here’s Rossa:

Other cast members include Stephen Colfer as Danny “Spud” Murphy, Maria Murray as Alison, Niall Sheehy as Francis Begbie and the far too cool Ken McGuire as Tommy McKenzie. For more details check out Devious Theatre‘s website or MySpace page or Bebo.

Really looking forward to seeing this show and I wish everyone involved all the best with the preparations.

Trainspotting runs from 24th to 28th June and tickets are on sale now from the Watergate Theater, Kilkenny, 056 – 7761674.

Sidenote:While in Kilkenny over the weekend, we enjoyed some lovely chips and burgers in Joe’s Takeaway, where we nicked this poster:

Sorry about that, Joe!

What an amazing weekend. Truly, it was one of those weekends that you could never possible hope to have as much fun. We laughed, we drank, we got slagged off by Jason Byrne; we watched comedians play football, we watched Des Bishop perform Jump Around (as Béarla agus as Gaeilge), we got a taxi home a 5am.

My weekend began on Thursday night with drinks in Dublin with some friends, moved to Wexford for a wedding on Friday, before GPSing it to Kilkenny where the weekend really kicked off in fine style, sitting in the window of Morrisons bar watching the assortment of funnymen walk by.It’s what all long weekends should be.

Admittedly, we spent a ridiculous fortune, but I feel like I’ve just been away for a week’s holiday. I’m refreshed, happy, slightly less milk-bottle-white than I was last week (yes, the beautiful weather helped immensely).

Back in work in Tuesday morning, all I want to do is talk about the past few days, but alas I have work to do, but I will try to pull some posts together today and this evening.

It’s very, very hard to feel sorry for this guy. Fine, he doesn’t look happy – life has clearly been hard on him. He’s obesely overweight, he’s aging badly, he’s got glasses that could be part of the Hubble Telescope. There’s something of Jackie Healy Ray about him. I would imagine that big clunky walking stick (hospital issue circa 1978) was the result of a war injury. He struggled to walk three feet in a minute and I’m sure I saw a tear come to his eye from the pain in his hip. Perhaps he needs a hip replacement but his name is a distant glimmer on the long HSE waiting list.

By the looks of his clothing, he is not homeless, but he clearly has no one at home to care for his attire. The suit he is wearing has long since ceased to be respectable and now just looks like a drab patchwork quilt. His shoes with odd laces definitely frequent the cobbler and he seems to be without socks. A glance at his shirt show the fading dignity of a man who still uses starch with varied degrees of success.

He is grunting. He’s not drunk, he is perhaps in some pain – breathing seems to be a struggle, perhaps due to his weight. I’m sure there is an abundance of health issues that are not evident on the surface and though he is maybe in his late fifties or early sixties, his withered hands are those of a man many years his senior. A life of hard manual labour and no concept of the modern man’s grooming regime, has ensured that his skin, his hair, his feet, his hands, will shrivel away in front of his eyes – they cannot be patched together like his suit.

He asks the lady sitting beside him for the use of her phone. This may be a sign of his poverty or it may be an indication that he cannot bring himself to embrace this modern mobile life, though it is clearly a necessity for him. He asks her to dial the number for him and is visibly shaken when no one answers. Is he late? Is he due to meet someone? Or is he just reaching out in the hope that someone will touch his life in some kind way? The woman apologises, puts her phone away and returns to her iPod.

So, why do I find it hard to feel sorry for this guy? A few stops before my final stop, he is ready to get off. He struggles to get up and hobbles forward. He takes his time, but the door is being held for him, so he can afford to. People move out of his way, myself included, but his does not stop him from sticking his industrial walking stick right on my foot and then conclude the endeavour by putting his full immense weight right on my already aching limb. Hours later, as I type this, my foot is still sore. Argh! I hate him! The git!

This is not a proper blog post. I’m sitting on the DART, almost home and there’s only one other bloke on the carriage. He’s tapping away on his old ASUS EeePC and I’m feeling mean. So I’ve taken out my updated version of his laptop, the 900 Series, just to show off. Yes, I am a nerd. Yes, I am mean!

Alexia first brought my attention to the EeePC and I immediately wanted it. Not because it would aid in my productivity, not because it would make me more efficient, not even because I needed it for work. It was a pretty gadget and I wanted it.

He looks jealous. My work here is done.

This is a true story. It’s a number of years ago now and, while I am able to talk about it today, it freaked the hell out of me at the time. Don’t read it now – save this story in your bookmarks and come back to it, when you are home alone, late at night, a few drinks, just finished watching Saw IV and you can hear some strange noises outside, only then will you truly appreciate the horror we experienced seven years ago.

Lottie and I moved out of Wicklow at the start of the Millennium, early 2000. We were independent, we were forthright, the world was our oyster…we hadn’t a clue.

Killester, north of Dublin, is where we initially settled. We moved into a huge house in Brookwood, which we shared with ten other people. We had the biggest room in the place and even had attic space. Rent was next to nothing and we had an abundance of disposable income. We went out a lot and had a good time. Life was good. But it could not last.

We shared the house with a number of characters. There was Mr OCD, who did exactly as it said on the tin. There was Mr Normal, who was a nice, sound, feet on the ground type of guy who we quite liked. There was Frenchy, a young French student who seemed more out of place there than a nun at a Marilyn Manson concert. There were a number of people who we never saw and one strange old guy who reminded me of Roy from Coronation Street. I suspect he like to train spot (ooh, look! another DART). And there was a couple in their thirties who we saw quite a lot – let’s call them Sally and Steve. Now, Sally was not a pretty girl. All the makeovers in the world could not help this woman. Her misshaped hips and Mike Tyson face is further proof that God does not exist. Her boyfriend, Steve, was no Lothario either and his Nordsoide accent was unintelligible at times. There was a large sitting room in the house for communal use, but everyone was aware that the sitting room belonged to Sally and Steve, and it was rare that anyone else would venture in there. It reeked of smoke, was covered in beer cans, had an ancient TV (it may have been black and white) and furniture that was out of style in the 1970’s. This was their abode. Jobless, senseless and penniless, this is where Sally and Steve spent their day.

It was announced that the house our little dysfunctional group shared was going up for sale and Lottie and I were devastated. Just settled in and getting our lives in order, we did not want to go through the flat hunting process all over again. So, as luck would have it, one of our house mates, Mr Normal, had quickly organised a new home for himself and there was a spare room going, so Lottie and I snapped it up.

It was a hole! It was a tiny room in a tiny run-down fixer-upper at the other side of Killester. We shared a half-built bathroom with Mr Normal and the Landlord, an old guy who had spent the last five years rebuilding this house that was no where near finished.

But, we were happy. We were young and in lust. Our hectic social life and excessive drinking habits made us blind to the inadequacies of the cesspit we lived in.

Late one night (a rare night when we hadn’t been out on the town, we finished watching an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on our big enormous 14” screen, and Lottie got out of bed to get a drink of water. Now, allow me to attempt to paint a picture of the house.

The floorplan of the entire house was in an L shape. Our room was at the top of the L facing inwards to the back garden (Point A), while the kitchen, where Lottie was getting her glass of water, was at the base of the L facing inwards to the garden too (point B). She went to the sink (Point C) to get her water but, turning around, she looked down the garden to see a small, strange figure perched on the window ledge of our bedroom, staring in. She described it at the time as like a goblin. She turned on the light which startled the figure and sent it scurrying away from the garden.

Lottie returned to the bedroom, nervous and pale, and told me what she had seen. At this time, I went up to the kitchen, keeping the light off so I would not be seen. It was a bright moonlit night, so the garden was quite clear, but I saw nothing. I stared down the garden for some time before giving up. I returned to the sink to get that glass of water and as I did, I looked out the window directly above the sink. It was usually a fairly pointless window, as directly in front of it were high bushes with a wall behind them. So this window provided no additional light to the kitchen. As I stared out, no more than two foot in front of me, a small, pale, round face peered in at me, wide eyed and bloodshot. I was frozen to the spot. Fear gripped every inch of me and as the face sank back into the bushes, completely expressionless, I realised what it was. It was our old housemate, Steve.

He must have followed us from our previous house. It frightens me to imagine how often he used to watch us, where he may have followed us, what he may have planned to do…eek!

Needless to say, we had moved out within about two weeks.

Insanely expensive as they may be, I got my birthday present today – two tickets to Tom Waits on 1st August. Woohoo!

It is too much money, but it’s a once in a lifetime experience and I can’t wait for the gig. Thank you sooo much to Liz for buying me the tickets. 🙂

Update: Ray Foley just announced the gigs have sold out. 27/05/08 12.30pm

Much as I tend to avoid anything and everything to do with sports, a couple of years ago we caught the Rugby bug (along with a lot of the country), so I was excited to be watching the Heineken Cup Final on Saturday afternoon. I was all set to write a post on the match and give my humble opinion, but then I saw that Andrew had summed it up nicely. Check out Andrew’s post-match analysis here.

It is exactly a year to the day since I met my birth mother, and yesterday we met again and looked over one of the most eventful years in both our lives.

Lunch seemed like a good idea, except I really wasn’t feeling well, but we gave it a go in Davy Byrne’s on Duke Street. Soup and brown bread is all I could manage. One year ago in the Berkeley Court in Ballsbridge, around the same time of day, we had a glass of wine together and began to ask questions, as we both tried to hold back emotions and nerves. Well, any nervousness or apprehensions that may have been there then, have now all completely disintegrated, as we hug and immediate begin chatting about our respective lives.

We both have been very busy of late; I’ve joined the Blogosphere and as a result have gained an extra branch to my already hectic social life. She has been on holiday after holiday this year already, has had the twins confirmation, has been dealing with the kids breaking up for the summer holidays, worrying about her husband’s burgeoning music career (he’s joined a band as a drummer), on top of her already exhaustive mothering duties, and her own job. So, sadly, we have not had as much time to sit down and talk as we would have liked.

Allow me to recap: 26½ years ago, I was given up for adoption and gained a great home and a new name (my original birth certificate calls me Dominic). Early last year, I finally got up off my lazy arse and registered with the Adoption Preference register. Almost immediately there was a match, Teresa having been on the register since its launch three years earlier. After exchanging letter and emails we quickly arranged to meet and instantly hit it off. No awkwardness, no discomfort, no tension at all. On the same day, I met her brilliant husband (not my birth father) and not too long after that, I went down to Clare (the opposite side of the country to me) where I met my half-brothers and -sisters. I have two brothers now and two additional sisters (twins) to add to my own sister.

This last year has been fantastic. I have been down to Clare a number of times (the last time was for the twins confirmation and I wrote about it here and here), and they have visited us in Greystones. Towards the end of last year, the eldest of the four, Sean, who is now 16 (10 years my junior – oh God I feel old), stayed with us for a week and did Transition Year work experience with Lottie. It was wonderful having him up and being part of his life as well a the lives of my other new siblings.

So, one year on, conversation flows freely and easily and range from my reaction to meeting Teresa’s mother to Indiana Jones, from metaphysical discussions about fate to the final episode of Desperate Housewives. I only wish I was feeling a little less under the weather, but it was lovely seeing her again and I am happy things are still going so well.

Previous Posts

Adoption – In Search Of My Biomammy

Adoption Worries

Weekend In Clare – Saturday

How To Lose Your Good Mood In Three Easy Steps Hours

Sitting upstairs, at the front of the bus, heading home from work on Friday evening, there are two kids – maximum 16 years of age – discussing how old they are now. They’re look a little like Goths but with a splash of colour and a smile – are they emo’s?

They were reminiscing about primary school and when they first met in first year. They’ve been together for 18 months and lately Emoboy’s mother has begun to have problems with Emogirl. They suspect it’s because 18 month ago she may have thought it was a little crush but now she is beginning to realise that they are ‘destined to be together forever’. He is angry at his mum for having a problem, because ‘she has no right o judge him’. She had him when she was aged 16 and has no right to lecture him about his girlfriend and anyway he won’t be as ‘stupid and naïve’ as his mother to make such a mistake. Yes, he descibes his own birth as a mistake – how much more teenage angst would you like? Deep stuff.

Just before I get off the bus, she makes him promise her they’ll be together forever. He promised!

This is fantastic. Wheezer’s new music video. Thank you John Braine for posting this one.

It is perhaps fitting that I begin listening to Scarlett Johansson‘s album of Tom Waits’ songs on the day Waits announces details of his first Irish gigs in 21 years.

Over the years I had heard many Waits’ tracks, often sung by others, some by the artist himself, but it was his 2004 album, Blood Money, that grabbed my attention and made me a real fan. God’s Away On Business was a track I watched late one night on telly – it was a dark, twisted track with amazing lyrics matched by the gravelly voice of Tom Waits. I ran out the next day to buy the album (how much easier life is with the advent of music downloading).

Anyone, let alone a young Hollywood starlet, taking on the feat of doing an album entirely of his work, was always going to ruffle a few feathers among the Waitsian fan base, a devout following. Johansson has the advantage of cult status however, having been so perfect in the incredible Sophia Coppola movie, Lost in Translation, with Bill Murray. This was a movie that showed her to have the beauty and innocence of youth coupled with her wise eyes and a maturity that made the films’ pivotal relationship so wonderful to watch. But does that allow her the audacity to borrow from Waits’ catalogue? Each fan will have to make up their own mind.

Track by Track

The opening track, Fawn (from 2002’s Alice), is an instrumental piece and feels a little pointless, as if they are taunting us slightly. I was waiting for it to cut into the meat of the dish. Fawn is a cute intro though, that serves more to introduce us to the album’s producer, Dave Sitek, than to Ms Johansson. It’s clear that we are not going to get any of Waits’ creepy, haunting, beats that seem to hunt you while you sleep. Instead we are presented with a misty, southern states, drunken jazz atmosphere that fits very well with Waits’ pseudo-melodies and intelligent lyrics. The inclusion of Nick Zinner from the Yeah Yeah Yeah’s and David Bowie on some tracks can only help the situation.

The Town With No Cheer, from Swordfish Trombones (1983), is one of the best tracks on the album and it is understandable that this song is chosen to introduce us to Scarlett’s smoky bass tones and masculine pronunciations of the lyrics. Quickly we learn that Scarlett’s vocal range is somewhat limited – she struggles with higher notes and her pitch is shaky at times. But, when we consider the gruff nature of Waits’ original vocals, we can look past this, as long as there is enough quality in what we hear throughout the rest of the album.

There is truth to the old adage, put your best foot forward. This is clearly what Sitek and Johansson have chosen to do here. Tracks 3 and 4, Falling Down and Anywhere I Lay My Head are truly remarkable.

Falling Down (from 1988’s Big Time) has a wonderfully strong start with near-synthetic piano overlaying a repetitive accordion piece. The lyrics are inspired and delivered beautifully by Johansson, but it is the inclusion of David Bowie’s backing vocals that truly lift this track and make it an immediate classic. Bowie’s backing vocals begin lightly and gently rise to a wonderful finish which has his voice match Scarlett’s in the lead, without taking over at any point. Apparently, Bowie, Johansson and Sitek are good friends, having worked together on previous projects – both Bowie and Johansson were in The Prestige with Christian Bale, while Sitek and Bowie worked together on TV on the Radio.

Anywhere I Lay My Head (from 1985’s Rain Dogs) is probably my favourite track on the album. You sway along to the tune and the chorus seems to sweep you into the music. Johansson’s multi-layered contralto voice is at its best here. It is followed by Fannin Street (2006’s Orphans) which is a song of regret, looking back over life’s mistakes and her voice is so perfect at selling the imagery that you forget she is only 24 years old. I can see a smoky bar and an aging band, led by a femme fatale and her glass of single malt whiskey, dreamily remembering her past.

Song For Jo is the only original track on the album and is written by Johansson and Sitek. This track is perhaps a hint that Johansson’s foray into the limelight of the music charts is not a one-off event. This is a strong track and although it lacks the punch of some of the other tracks on the album, it does have some dreamy qualities that shows the potential for something grander.

Green Grass is a track from the excellent Real Gone album from 2004 and I was destined to be critical of this track. It is from one of my first Tom Waits albums and an album I was particularly fond of. Green Grass is one of the poorer tracks on the Real Gone album and I am surprised to see Johansson choose it. She handles it admirably, but adds very little new. On future listens, I will skip forward to the next track.

I Wish I Was in New Orleans (1976’s Small Change) is perhaps the last great track on the album. Painting a picture of the streets of bourbon street, late at night as the music man plays his old wooden music box, clanging out a tune that sounds more like a demonic lullaby than any tune that would whisk a child off to sleep. The album’s general atmosphere is best summed up in this track which is a mixture of sadness and hope.

I Don’t Wanna Grow Up (1992’s Bone Machine) is immediately recognisable as a hit from the Ramones, so there is definitely additional pressure on Johansson and Sitek to pull out something special. Sadly, for me, this is the flattest track on the album. It is lifeless and feels like they knew they couldn’t make it better than either the original or the Ramones hit version, so they just threw something together. It’s a shame that this recognisable track should be the one to bring the album to a screeching halt.

I Don’t Wanna Grow Up is followed by No One Knows I’m Gone (from 2002’s Alice) and Who Are You (from 1992’s Bone Machine) and while both are better than their predecessors, neither reach the heights of quality attained earlier in the album.

Overall, this is more than a simple piece of curio – it is an album of great songs, preformed very well and arranged cleverly, and while I can’t see it hitting the bargain bins anytime soon, I certainly don’t see it reaching chart-topping heights.

But, of course, there’s no doubt that Johansson knew this early on. She chose to do an album of Tom Waits songs. She did not follow in the pop-princess heels of Lohan, Miley Cyrus or that other silly poppy ‘actress’/’singer’. The album was never likely to be a mainstream draw and if all we ultimately take from listening to it is that it is a fan’s tribute to an artist she really likes, then that’s not too bad.

I suspect this album will perform one service though – to introduce a number of new people to the incredible talents of Tom Waits. If that is this album’s legacy, then Johansson has plenty to be proud about.

Sidenote: How hot is Johansson? Does anyone want to see pics of Sitek, Bowie, Kinner? I doubt it!