Like the corners of my mind

Its hard not to reminisce at this time of year.

Like all significant dates, Christmas day is one of those dates that you can look back and remember-with perfect clarity- exactly what you were doing one year previous. This year saw me sitting and crying to Noel's Christmas Presents, eating crisps in my pyjamas at 5 pm. I was reminded of last year, when I sat on the couch, hungover, swaddled in my housecoat, watching Noel's Christmas Presents and crying into a box of pringles.

All people seem to say is "Christmas is different these days," but I can't see it. You feel it as much as you want to feel it. The build up still feels the same-nights out all involve the same songs, the witnessing of awkward (and soon to be regrettable) party kisses, plenty of wine, and they all, all end on "Fairytale of New York."
Last minute shopping still requires a machete, and Christmas Eve drinks still take place in the same venue with the same people. Nothing has changed, we've just gotten older, and in a way, theres something warmly reassuring about these traditions that have eased their way in over the years.

But this year was different.

Amidst the Christmas carols and Noel Edmond's nasal whine, there was a different sound to be heard. The gurgling and soft cry of my brand new nephew from his pram. He's just two weeks old, and as I held the tiny, shiny, wriggly little person and looked at him, I couldn't remember seeing anything so perfect in my whole life. His needs are so simple and even though he can't smile yet, I know he's happy.
I was there the moment he was born- something he'll surely come to forget and potentially resent as he blossoms into a surly teenager. But for now he is young, and its so impossibly hard to be bitter when you hold so much possibility in your arms.

Happy Christmas everyone.

The Day the Earth stood Still

Keanu rent-a-robot Reeves turns out another signature role as the emotionless and potentially developmentally disabled alien. Does anyone remember the last time he was given the responsibility of playing an actual human? I can just imagine the direction on set "Give me more Neo... Still Neo...Neo... now Constantine... Constantine... mono-syllabic... work it...work it." I don't know what was the best part of this film was- the horrifically horrendous script, the appalling plot, or the atrocious costumes that wouldn't have looked out of place in a primary school fancy dress party.
I think, think, the overall message was about the environment and how we're all ravaging it, but I could be looking too much into it. Any intelligible points were lost amongst the sexy scientist, dead parent and bemused Alien cliches that were being thrown in at every second.
The threat of life being wiped out didn't bother me as not only did I not care for anyone in the film, I hated them.
Still though, funniest film I've seen in ages. Me and half the cinema laughed the whole way through it.

Know the one thats one too many

Coppers has a strict door policy.

Who knew?

I thought the only prerequisites for entry were blood shot eyes and a raging boner.

Bikram yoga

 I should have guessed from the reviews: "you'll feel like you want to leave... but don't. Within a few classes you wont feel like that anymore." Really? Do you mean that?

 The concept is simple-yoga in a heated room. How bad can it be? How hot can it actually get? It sounded exciting and exhilarating, and if I were to be honest with myself my existing sports of glass lifting and power eating weren't exactly getting me very far fitness wise. Beginners welcome... all levels catered for...

 Let me be clear on one thing: 105 Fahrenheit written on  a computer screen is a lot different to 105 Fahrenheit in reality. I'd imagine it to be the closest you'll ever get to feeling like you're sitting on the sun, wrapped in blankets and hot water bottles while someone is throwing boiling water over your face, legs and arms.

I woke this morning and could move my arms and legs freely-which is not something I'm used to feeling after I participate in exercise. I felt a little cocky about my flexibility, but then bolted back to reality when I remembered that I actually couldn't complete the second part of the class because I instead had to focus all of my energy on staying conscious. "Beginners, don't worry if you need to sit out a posture, just don't leave, the first class is about staying in the room" I stayed in the room alright. I also stayed mostly on the floor, in the crawl position, a posture I remember thinking would be perfectly adept for escaping from a burning building. As I fought back tears I started to repent. All the years of excess had led me to this moment-potentially being taken out of a yoga class in an ambulance. At one point I vowed never to go again. 

But as I floated home drenched to the skin with sweat I couldn't help but feel excited about the next class. Endorphins are a terrible thing.

We're not there yet, but we're getting there

I took the train for the first time in a long time the other day. While I was busy slumming it with Bus Eireann for the past year it turns out the Calcutta Express was getting a makeover. I landed on track 7 in Heuston to be greeted with a train that wouldn't look out of place in a French film.
I stepped aboard and waited for my nostrils to be filled with the familiar hum of cigarettes and Supermacs, but instead I was met with a new car smell and clean upholstery. There were bins-bins- every few seats. Even the toilets had been raised to an acceptable European standard-gone was the steel bucket filled to the brim with piss and jack's roll, and in its place was a futuristic toilet capsule-complete with working flusher and a proper lock to keep the perverts at bay. I didn't even have to pick any used tampons off my shoes. Even the passengers seem to have been upgraded. Not a sunburn or can of Bulmers in sight. I disembarked in a polite fashion, in keeping with the company, and weaved my way through the designer luggage and out onto the Luas stop.
The bang of shit Dublin hash stung my airway and I snapped back to reality. As I boarded the Luas we were treated to an off the cuff rendition of "Crazy" by a lover to a lover, sung in the key of Vat 69.

We're not there yet, but we're getting there.