One for Wonder

Leaving my house today, bathed in warm sunlight I witnessed a magpie flying majestically from a house to a nearby wall.

It was incredibly graceful, first the bird dropped: free-falling like a skydiver; then swinging out its wings swerving to aim itself at the wall.
It once more tucked its wings in with its body and rocketed forward only to deploy them again to softly land atop the granite wall.

I have never wanted to fly so much in my life, to spread my wings and show the flare with which I can command the air.
I can tell, just standing there staring in awe at this magnificent creature of the sky that what is second nature to it would be an incredible heart-in-mouth experience for me.

This, however bizarre as it might seem to the rest of the world; leads me back to the old haunt of computer games. The only way I can experience the amazing thrill of high-speed tightly-controlled low-flight is in a computer game. In fact the only place I have experienced such a thrill was fighting the force-feedback to bring a small fighter plane under control in Battlefield 2 (probably my favourite game).
The game includes a flying component which often can only be enjoyed at the detriment of the regular game-play. You could say that bf2 players suffer as a whole so a select few can enjoy the thrill of flight.
So next time someone challenges my love of computer games I will ask them in return 'How else will I fly like a magpie?'

An account of the Dublin Institute of Technology Students Union Presidential Election

Having stumbled accidentally upon democracy I stopped to watch it in action, I had spoken with all of the candidates at one time or another, Martin I had shared a campus with for a few years, Rebecca I had talked to several times after a friend informed me that I should vote for her because she wore PVC, and Al I had spoken with the day he decided to run, as he was posting his early proclamations.
I had originally decided that Al seemed an interesting and likeable character who would be worth having in office, even if only to see what he would do.
When I spoke in depth to Rebecca on the day of the electoral vote I found her aims comparable to my own, and her attitude that any vote was a good vote refreshing.
Having been around Martin for some time I know he is a frosty and stand-off-ish character who's dull outlook I do not share.
That said, this is only my opinion. A critic I was talking to later that day felt differently, he described the ballot thus: "It was like trying to choose which puddle of shit face first into".

I mingled with the crowd, gathered around the mini stage on which the votes would be counted, the candidates wore faint smiles, while their supporters laughed and joked. I naturally aligned myself with the candidates my Hunter S. Thompson addled brain had tagged as "Freak Power" candidates and their supporters.
When the vote count began the tension mounted. Where there had been pleasant conversation, now there was silence... as the vote continued it became more and more obvious that it would be won by Dunne, silence gave way to the murmurs of dark resentment. Spiky people expressed spiky opinions.
No one felt like chatting so I attempted to take notes, this had the opposite effect to what I wanted: The people around me started to ask me what I was writing, I felt unable to express to them that I wanted to have some record of how this felt, some reminder of the tension in the air or the foreboding in their faces. In the end I gave up after only three words. 'Dark dreary tension'.
Spirits were eased somewhat when the music system was restored by coiling broken wires together and hoping for the best, a Queen heavy playlist brought smiles back to peoples faces, and in an effort to relax one of the candidates on the subject of my writing I leaned back where I new he would see and noted that "Queen will never die" in my notebook. How successful this was, I cannot say.
The supporters around me had long stopped hoping for a win, and were now all but praying that the vote would at least require one recount, just to save face.
But it was not to be, when the first count was over the results were announced RON had received 92 votes, Rebecca had received 625 votes Alastair had received 480 votes and Martin Dunne had won the Presidency with 1491 votes.
There was no point in recounting the vote, Martin had simply run away with it. Martin was swept up by a group of young men and thrown in a pond in celebration.
For those who had lost, there was hugs and remorse. It was over for them. Both of them are Final Year students, there will be no further contest for them.

So a man I found painful company had been elected as DIT Students Union President.
This was unfortunate but perhaps unavoidable, as a current vice president he was a much more recognised face than either of his opponents, he was a Kevin St. student so he had dealings with students from both the Kevin St. and Aungier St. campuses. When it comes down to it, you simply cannot hope to beat name recognition.

But then what does it matter? As a friend of mine explained when I challenged her decision not to vote, in the end it makes no difference who is in power, they will all do the same things anyway.

-Ankhwatcher, Resolute Hunter S. Thomson fan.

Ponder The Adjusted

The Beast With Two Backs

Okay, so I’m very into this girl and she seems quite interested in me. Hooray.

And I can sort of feel that I am on the top of a slope of sorts. In the respect that, if I don’t screw it up through some spectacular means we are more or less definitely going to hook up. (I realise the inanity of that statement, which is to say that it essentially means ‘if we don’t not get together: then we’re going to get together’).

So now I cannot help myself but feel that I should attempt to obtain style-points.

One notion which rather stuck in my head was the concept that when we go to have sex (which could be anywhere from one day to one month from now) that I should attempt to woo her with the proposition of making “the beast with two backs”.

“The beast with two backs” is a term for sex which I encountered in the Neil Gaiman novel ‘American Gods’ (thank you Magrat, it was a lovely present), and it always seemed to me as the worst possible term for intercourse. It doesn’t seem very dirty, or exciting and it certainly isn’t sweet. So I find it utterly without merit. Which means it is perfect for gaining kudos, showing moxy and obtaining style points. So there you have it, if and when the time comes I will woo my lady to bed using that phrase.

Hopefully something like this:

“So… [I run my hand up her thigh to her waist, and then go on to massage a little circle onto her ass while I say] you wanna make the beast with two backs?”.

To be honest, if this girl lives up to my secret hopes she will reply either “No… because you’re going to take me like a dog” or “Okay… but I’m going in the drivers seat”.

Hello world, or more likely nobody.
Wow: I'm talking to the world but nobody is listening... blogging is futile. Get up and assimilate the day.

Well that asside, I have just two things I would like to throw out there.

Firstly... I just had a really weird dream, I was running around and around this sort of factory, but it wasn't quite a factory: in places it looked like a school or a shopping mall.
Anyway I was running around, and Chris was there, but he was working there. I was a patron or a prisoner, and he was a member of staff.
So I was running around and around this place, with Chris occasionally giving me directions, there were other runners too doing the circuit.
Suddenly I realised that the solution was in the milk bottle. I think I said it out loud, because I was immediately terrified that the runner behind me had heard and would get there before me!
So I doubled back, running through the halls of an empty american high school and back into a the dark grey factory, I ran up a down escallator and there it was!
It, was a large slowly spinning turnstile device, quite similar to a tie-rack. On it was a number of bottles and cartons.
I saw a volvic bottle bleached white and nearly grabbed it, thinking it would have milk in it, but then I remembered that it was bleached white by turpentine. So I looked again, and there it was! A green Avenmore carton. (This was the old low fat carton, they are now pale blue)
The carton was attached to the turnstile i such a way that I had not choice but to pull off the lid in order to get it down. I looked in, I saw and smelt that it was washing up liquid and I knew that I was right, that I had won.
I stood up (the turnstile was only at chest hieght so you had to squat to see under it and get at the bottles) and walked to the door, where I was congradulated on solving the puzzle and allowed to walk through.
At this point I was woken up.

Now the girl. Last week started on something of a high note. On sunday night I went to the movies with an attractive member of the opposite sex whom I had had my eye on for some time.
Everything went fantastic, the movie Charlie Wilson's War was great, and we had a lot of fun together. Unfortunately Ireland has an irritating habit of closing down on Sunday, so by the time the movie was over there were no pubs for us to go to.
So we parted ways at the taxi rank on Dame St. at this point I was in a frankly hideously good mood.
Then I made a big mistake, I failed to follow Swingers Rule.
Swingers Rule is from a trailer for the movie Swingers, which was at the start of one of my favourite movies growing up.
Swingers is about a man who got married young and then was divorced years later. He is trying to date again but he lacks all the necissary skills, so his friend have to teach him, talk him through the process.
Anyway, one particular scene in the trailer showed him coming over to his friends and exclaiming excitedly that he had "her number". He wanted to know when he should call her, they said wait two days, he asked how long they would wait before they would call their babys: they respond in unison "two days".
It was exactly this rule that I utterly failed to follow. I barely waited 12 hours. And that was that, I came on too strong, girl was wierded out. I acted like a twat. The end.
Oh well, next time, assuming the Universe (through quantum) grants me a next time. I'll try and play it a little cooler. In fact, a lot cooler.
Maybe I'll wear sunglasses all the time...

Left Limits

Given a function f(x)
We say that f has:

A Left Hand Limit Equal To l!

But only at the point at the point x0-oo-oh
If the value of f(x)
can be made as close as we wish to l
as x approaches x0 - From the Left

The girl beside me is hot like hell
Her cleavage invites like the gates of hell
I may not feel that rump tonight
But she looks great in the afternoon light.

Take x close to two
Like you hold your baby close to you
But keep it less, than then two
or else you just might go through

If x is nearly two, then x-squared is nearly four
and we can make it close
and we can make it big
But we always will be limited by that value: less than 2
So what I'm really saying is that it never will be four.

So when I say
f(x-) = L
Don't you walk away...

---
Rory Glynn
If you really want to get this you have to listen to some Guns N' Roses and then read it.
Axel Rose needs to sing it.

In my Canteen

In my canteen:
The food is always stodgy,
The chips are really dodgy.
In my canteen.
The fish is just terrific,
The meat is non-specific.
In my canteen.
The cleaning is atrocious,
The tables make me nauseous.
In my canteen.
But when you need a feed
It's the place your guaranteed
It won't make your wallet bleed!
And that's why it's my Canteen.

-ANkh
This isn't specifically about DIT's canteen, which isn't that bad... except for the cooking.

Crazy

I'm crazy,
so crazy,
just crazy,
and lazy,
and blue.

I'm crazy
so crazy,
just crazy,
and hazy,
about you.

I'm crazy,
so crazy,
just crazy,
to blasé,
to sue.

I'm crazy,
so crazy,
just crazy,
but my pay,
is due.

Obviously I was too busy sticking to the format to make any sense...
-ANkh

Bored

I need some human interaction
Or at least a good distraction
I might as well be in traction
As live a life devoid of action

I am so bored
Bored
Bored
Why am I so bored?
Bored
Bored


I need someone to talk to
Something to think and something to do
I've got a catalogue to flick through
Does that sound appetising to you?

I am so bored
Bored
Bored
Why am I so bored?
Bored
Bored


I just want to go home
To end this frivolous roam
I'll sit on my nerd throne
And invade Berlin or kill a clone.

I'm just so damned bored!
It cannot be ignored
I need to go out and be scored
Or I might as well be freeze stored


I'M JUST SO FUCKING BORED!

Plane Ramblings

I am currently sitting in seat 12c listening to johnny Cash cut with punk rock.

My vessel sails over a patch of lake scattered wetlands north of Vancouver, unfortunately I cannot access this information first hand but instead must rely on a gps driven mapping program to inform me.

Why Do I Not Look Out A Window?

Simple: on an Airbus A330 the left side of row 12 has no windows. Bit of a downer.

According to the digital map We are passing “Norway House” home of an impressive sand spit.

What Is A Sand Spit?

A sand spit is a product of erosion and deposition, specifically it is caused by what is known as “Longshore Drift”.

Longshore Drift causes sand to be pulled along a beach. This works just fine until the beach gives way (i.e. the rock or other solid that the beach formed on are no longer there) then without a beach to bounce off the drift looses all of its strength and drop its load.

After some time the load forms more beach and the waves rebound off this making more deposited beach after that first stretch, this process continues until the sand source is cut off. (either by the complete erosion of the source or by human interaction in the form of building various barriers to stop the sand from leeching off “their” beach.

I just heard “Grace Kelly” by Mika, and I admit: I'm growing fond of it despite myself.

Now Johnny Cash is singing about his lover being the nearest thing to heaven... Boy oh boy do I miss my girl. Ten hours without the ability to send her some sort of short soppy message is killer.

Ah, that body of water is “Lake Winnipeg”, some more control over this GPS feed would be nice.

It is 11:02 Pacific Coast Time. 7:03pm at home.

That give me about 3 more hours in this accursed contraption.

Redhatt Bootstrap Linux! The in-flight entertainment computer just restarted. It is running RedHat Bootstrap Linux, I wonder if this is automatic or if someone is actually at a console somewhere...

It's taking quite a while to get running.

The stewardesses mentioned earlier that they had not been told how the system worked beforehand.

I wondering if this relates to wht is making the lites turn on and off randomly. Or the mysterious “Computer Problems” that delayed take off.

Interesting: It is again running its gps system for me to look at, but now it has a much more detaled feed, its telling me outside temperatures, wind speeds etc.

How odd.

So, this crate is Penguin Powered, how about that?

Do I Trust a Penguin Powered Plane?

Sure, why not? If you can't trust the nerdiest software around, who can you trust?

“Dreaming Dreams of driving a Zamboni, all over Saskatchewan” - Weird Al Yankovic.

I currently float due south of Saskatchewan. Which puts me probably in Canadian Airspace.

Here comes “Whole Wide World” by Wreckless Eric, a fairly soppy allegedly punk song. I wish this plane was aimed in the opposite direction.

Why Am I Crossing The Rockies When I Only Want To Cross The Irish Sea?

Beats me.

Ah, the child sitting across the aisle from me has woken to find that he is stil on that damned plane. You wouldn't be that excited by the prospect either.

I'm glad there is some punk on, because Mr. Cash would have a hard time drowning out this little fella.

Tell Me About The Airbus A330.

Well its a plane, It has two wings, it runs an in-flight entertainment system based on redhat linux.

It has all the standard trappings of a modern airliner. Big plastic everything. If it were to crash the emergency exit is one row in front of me, and manned by an elderly couple I don't trust.

But I'm just bitter because of the legroom I would have if I was sitting there.

Current status of Rory Glynn:

Tired : True.

Bored: True.

Lonely: True.

Sore: True.

Sleepy: True.

In Need Of A Visit To The Lavatory: True.

In Desperate Need Of A Visit to the Lavatory: False.

Full Of Piss And Vinegar: Always.

Breath Fresh: False

Dragon Breath: Possibly.

This trip marked a new high for me in painful long distance flying:

I ate the whole dinner except the yellow rubber and the cold pasta, twice.

Also I watched two films in their entirety.

Those films were:

The Cleaner

& Music and Lyrics

The Cleaner is a traditional “unlikely espionage” comedy movie. Much in the style of “The Man Who Knew Too Little”.

Music and Lyrics is a modern Hugh Grant movie where he plays his Four weddings and Gossford character, but with an inkling of backbone.

Both films made me feel lonesome for Seāna.

Okay, I think I'll go for that pee now.

-Rory

The Hole Song

When you leave,
You leave your hole behind!
When I come,
Its just your hole I find!

When you're hot,
You can be quite conductive.
But when you're cold,
Your not so seductive.

I need you,
to be more,
I need your:
to be impure!

You'll be better
I'm really hoping;
When I add a letter
In a process called Doping!

If you were N;
It would be conductive,
If you were P;
I would fall in your... hole.

This song is actually about the doping of Silicon chips.
Electronics

The Latest NESW From The Front

Hey there!
I'd like anyone who still looks in this direction to check out my new direction:
NESW!

I gotta go.

I gotta go.
I gotta go.
I gotta go, like the snow, hanging low on,
the branches of trees in Wintertime.
But now it's summertime.
And it is not sublime, the snow of Summertime.

I gotta leave
I gotta leave
I gotta leave, but do not grieve, for I will be back again.
When I come down this Track Again.

[Drum Solo]

I must be gone.
I must be gone.
I must be gone, because the Spring has been and gone.
And I'm not where I Belong.

I gotta dash.
I gotta dash.
I gotta dash, This girs a lash, but offers hash, from her stash.
And I can't be having That.
I'll get my hat, go feed my cat.

And now the Ramones, who's words echo through my bones...
Listen to the Ramones.

I gotta get away.
Gotta x6 Get Away.

Note: The term [Drum Solo] refers to some sort of musical interlude or rambling or whatever... Not an actual drum solo because i hate them.

Also: The capitalised words are to be sung at a higher pitch... like in a Yes song.

Wave

Here's a song which feels a bit Jimmy Eat World to me... See what you think.

Wave because you see her.
Wave because you know her.
Wave because you need her.
Wave because you want her.
Wave because you love her.

I have changed the second verse back to its original content because It feels better...

Wave because your in the water.
Wave to your son and daughter.
Wave because of the light in your eyes.
Wave because you hear their cries.
Wave because your not that tough.
Wave because you can never get enough.



A bit random... But I like it.

-ANkh

I Lobster

I Lobster.
You Lobster?
He Lobster!
She Lobster!
Us Lobster!
They Lobster!
Why Lobster?
How Lobster?
Who Lobster?
WHAT LOBSTER?

-Um... Lobster everybody!

Battling The Beast.

I'll chop off both your necks you freak!
Actually we have only one neck
But we've got a long spicky tail, and a beak
Oh Good! I'll send you back to heck.

That beak is sharp
like a carp
That's irrelevant
Like an elephant.

Yes I aknowledge that this is very bad.
-Rory Glynn

Communications Lecturer

Here is a single verse poem I wrote about my Communications Lecturer.
As you will soon discover I find his class utterly trivial and pointless.

Randomly he Rambles
Many Examples executed
His point is all in-shambles
His effort un-saluted

I quite like it.

Death in the family.

This one is a proper poem...
For people who can't take a hint I would like to point out that time passes between verses.

A member of our family died today
We cried and wailed in such dismay!
He was one of us for many years.
That's why his passing caused such tears.

The funeral was held last Monday
By all accounts a dreary day.
At the wake we raised our beers
To toast a life with many fears.

But today will be bright and gay,
And we will all go out and play!
You see I don to want to seem perfidious
But now we have a new goldfish.

Note: For added sarcasm replace "goldfish" with "Adopted Romanian".
But I wouldn't do that because it would just be cold... And not at all funny.
Your a very bad person. And frankly... So am I.

By Rory Glynn.

Like a Grenade

This one is more of a song than a poem.

I Exploded like a grenade
It was getting worse
And makin' me curse
So I went up!

Chorus:
I Blasted them back,
In a Massive Attack!
And now they run back
For courage they Lack!

I exploded like a grenade
They were getting on my wick!
So I hollered "Suck my dick!"
I just blew up!

Chorus
I Blasted them back,
In a Massive Attack!
And now they run back
For courage they Lack!

By Rory Glynn
-Hey if you listened to the weird variety of music I do you'd write this shit too...

Shot In the Back

We were walking in the park,
A city dwellers perk
Then (due to sudden spark)
I was "Such a Jerk!"

I was shot in the back!
I was hurt, by
An unprovoked attack!
I felt like dirt, because
I was shot in the back!

by Rory Glynn