Desmond and the Relaxi-mood.

I'm now in relaxi-mood, with my essay finally over and done with. My beloved Irish lecturer has it, and I'm pretty certain that if he had a blog, somewhere in the vastness of cyberspace... he wouldn't be making a big deal of it, as I have.

But I think I'm allowed my neurotic little rants and google searches. Heck, even a little Irish photosurfing is fine! One must consider the proverbial oil that I've burnt in completing my essay. Oh! the body-clocks I have messed up. (Well, actually just the one. But one is bad enough, I assure you.)

So I will indulge myself, with shows and photos, and stupid little articles. I will sleep and refuel, and I will nap and rewind. Clock gears wound to Greenwich precision, fuel tanks filled with green-earth oil (it's not even real petrol!).

And then I'm ready for the next essay.

Bring it on, baby.

Desmond and The Five Years Younger.

I took my glasses off in class yesterday, and gave me Irish Professor (the less fun of the two) a face lift. Five years gone, just like that.

Yes, I'm generous that way. I give perfect strangers face lifts and hair implants. Glasses on -they've got eye bags and bad nose jobs. Glasses off and - BAM! Face is wrinkle-free, nose is perfectly symmetrical.

I reckon I'm like Clark Kent. Or rather, his superhero-alter ego. Who, if you realise, also saves the world sans eye-wear. But he probably does it as a favor to the world - "Earthlings, I feel more compelled to save you when I can love your pretty faces."

What a superficial jerk.
No wonder I love Batman.

(This Individual would like you know it is mock-anger that he feels. Of course he loves Superman. The guy's Batman's buddy! He's just saying the Man in Tights might want to consider the hazard he poses to pilots, what with flying half-blind. )

Desmond and The Deliberate Oversight.

Yippee! It's a rainy morning that looks set to carry on to the afternoon! (Edit: So it stopped raining. I never professed to be a meteorologist.)

And there's more to my weather-incited bliss. Last night, I found out that my Irish tutor extended the dateline for my essay submission. Again.

How much do I love the Irish?!

(This Individual must confess to a deliberate oversight of the nationality of his other tutor to whom he owes his other essay. See, Other Tutor is also Irish, but Other Essay is all kinds of pains in the tushie. No matter -- there is joy to be found in a week's respite from one essay.)

Desmond & Seamus O'Loughlin.

With all the sad news I've been reading recently, I think watching something ridiculous would be like a much-needed breather.

Stephen Gately passed away.

Be safe, reader.

Desmond, Friend-of-Keating.

Ronan Keating was in the papers a few days back, and I must say I've forgotten how much I enjoy listening to him. Admittedly he isn't the best singer, but I have a strange... let's call it, 'affection'... for him.

There's something about his songs that always cradles me into a contemplative air on quiet nights. Maybe it's his raspy, scratchy, voice that nudges me into dreaming my rusted dreams of some grass-is-greener life. Or maybe it's his good track-record with the media -- his commonness and everyday quality -- that makes me feel like I could be, and actually am, "Friend-of-Keating".

Whatever it is, no other singer has exuded such a sense of silent familiarity, for me at least.

So here's to Ronan Keating: "Cheers, mate."

(This Individual knows it sounds like a bromance. You know what? It probably is. But Keating really does all these for him. And come on, the guy's Irish!)