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!)

Desmond and the Winged-Banshee.

I spent the first few moments of my morning arguing with what bird-enthusiasts call 'sparrows'. Me? - I think they're more canine than bird. Or a cross of both. (Read: Winged-Banshee.)

After a sleepless night, I woke up to find many screeching sparrows outside my window. And in my half-asleep state, I threw my pillow at the window. (I never throw my pillow at anything. Or at least, "never did before".)

But these were persistent banshee-birds, and they just kept coming back, bringing friends like it was Bring Your Sparrow-friend to Desmond's Window Day. And clearly, this day does not exist, so I started arguing with them - all the while, still groggy and half-awake, and mostly oblivious to the people staring from the neighbouring block.

Then, in what must have been the height of my bird-induced irritation, I made a gesture. And if you'd be one of em' Bird-enthusiasts, I reckon ya cover yer ears and eyes.

World, I made a Finger-Gun. And shot the birds.


(This Individual would like you to know he was barely awake when he perpetrated his wanton act of violence. He only realised what he had done upon waking up a few hours later. And besides, no birds were harmed. They didn't even leave after being shot. Screeching, audacious, little creatures, these Winged-Banshees.)

Desmond and the Neglect.

School's out!
Time to (neglect the assignments and work and) party!!

(-picture by Éole)

Desmond and the Coping Device.

I love this time of year -- even with the midterms and due dates coming.

You see, in light of the many shows returning from hiatus, my mind instinctively shuts out all things depressing, and goes into celebratory mood.

Denial, delusion, or simply a coping device, who cares what you call it -- SHOWS ARE RETURNING. The warm sun rises to melt the winter frost away. Spring is here. Or you know.. Fall Season on American TV.

(This Individual really prefers if you see it as a coping device. It makes him sound saner. But if you do see it otherwise, he must remind you that his mind will instinctively shut you out. )

Desmond and that Morning Rain.

Always, always, a joy to find it raining when I wake.

Desmond & the Broken Playlist.

Playlist has been down for a couple of weeks now and I miss it. Terribly.

But one mustn't mistake my missing it for an unshakable affection for all things Playlist. If I could, I would smack Playlist on the head for being so incredibly difficult. Youareforme.

(This Individual misses convenient music. Youtube is not nearly as convenient and fun as playlist. But if you have alternatives, he gladly welcomes them, and sends you a million thanks in advance.)

Desmond and Calender's Coincidence.

I can't marry or give birth, so that part of today's nine-nine-nine opportunity is lost to me. What I can do, is blog.

So I am blogging, even if for no better reason than Calender's Coincidence. Because these numeric systems don't repeat themselves (at least not authentically) and bandwagons are enticing communal vehicles.

Yeehar.

Desmond and Some Smokey Horror.

It's that time of year again, when Stupidstition gets the better of men and women - who should know better - and rallies them into a burning frenzy.

I pity the environment, but maybe even more so, I pity me. Oh! think of the smoky horror that assaults my senses.

But there is little that can be done, except to shut the windows. That's the smokey remedy then.

Welcome, World, to September.

(This Individual realises most pity-parties are lame. But he would ask you to consider the Smoky Horror, and be entirely honest: "Don't you pity yourself too?" If you do, then join the fun. If you don't, he requests you save your judgement for someone who bothers. That, and a nasal checkup.)

Desmond and the Gallaghers.

Noel Gallagher quits Oasis

"The future of rock group Oasis was plunged into doubt Saturday after lead guitarist Noel Gallagher dramatically announced he was quitting because he can no longer work with his brother Liam." (Full article here.)

I've followed their current (rather amusing) feud for quite awhile now, but I have to say, I did not expect the split. Sure, it's been intense, but it's the Gallagher brothers we're talking about! They've always been antagonistic to each other, and in spite of the sibling rivalry, Oasis has still delivered year after year of good music.

I would have created a playlist of their songs in honor of them (or rather, their incredibly understanding bandmates). But playlist has also decided on the path of antagonism, and so you can really just guess how my said attempt went.

So here's to Oasis: It was a good run, and I'd love to see what happens next. And here's to Playlist.com: Work!

Desmond and The Lightning-Strikable Piece.

Maybe it's another squall or just simply a bout of rainy weather, but I welcome it with open arms.

Open arms.

And the preoccupation with lightning and thunder never seems to end, in spite of a fear of getting struck by said-lightning. But so far, so good. This man is still in one lightning-strikable piece. His photo-ambitions however, leave much to be desired.

-To more windy nights, and days.

Desmond & the Light of Blogging-Day.

One week is way too long for an entry-consumed-nutcase like myself. I could really do with more blogging.

But scurry, scurry... My time's been hurried away. Buried under books I'd rather not read, and books I should have read four days ago, I have yet to see the light of Blogging-Day. That is, until Now.

Now, I have inched my way out of Book-abyss, emerging like some Book-Mining-Warrior, victory cry all a'ready.

I am Hero and Legend, Miner-Extraordinaire.
I am valiant knight and victorious king.

I am blogging, now.
Or maybe I am just Fraud. Maybe I am disillusioned, driven insane by the sheer volume of books to read, that I've imagined a world where completed readings are possible. A world that only exists in some states (of mind). Denial's one of them.
(It sure sounds as if this Individual resents his post-holiday prison. But he really is enjoying most of it. For now. Still, every now and then, blogging brings him a much-needed break from work. We all have our stress-relief-ice-creams.)

Desmond and the Glee Explosion.

It turns out my first tutor of the new academic year is a visiting professor from Dublin, Ireland. And he discussed writing-writing with us.

Can you say, "Glee Explosion"?

YIPPEE!

(He swears he's not crazy, but this individual really enjoyed class today. And he'll not lie. A small part of the enjoyment came from his Irish professor who just arrived on our Sunny-island, because said-Professor was constantly referring to Ireland. Which, in itself, is enough cause for a mini Glee Explosion.)

Desmond and the Limbo That Lies Between.

I can feel myself snatching desperately at the scraps of time I have left... Desperately trying to prolong my time in the limbo that lies between Post-Holiday and School.

It's hard to give that time up. It's as if I've been delivered a package that I'm reluctant to receive. And now, if I acknowledge receipt, then the transaction is complete. Then... then, I would have left the Lesser-comfort of Limbo, and crossed into the Non-comfort of School.

And so I refuse to give my signature. "My pen has run out of ink," I'll say.
"How convenient," you'll say.

And then Post(Holiday)man will attempt to lend me a pen, and I will refuse even that.

Never accept gifts from Strangers.

Desmond & The Uncontrollable Need to Win.

The next time I can write this regularly (for my personal pleasure, might I add), could well be weeks away from now.

That makes me sad.
Incredibly sad.

I confess to an unhealthy obsession with watching those little bracketed numbers in my archive jump. Every entry adds to that number. Every month is a challenge to trump myself. It's a battle with Me. Fight, fight, fight. One, two, three, ten.

And the best thing about this? Either way, Desmond wins.

Don't end, holidays.
(You can't win, if you can't enter the competition. This Incredibly Bummed Individual realizes that. It's actually the reason he's bummed out. He would appreciate an extended holiday, so he may take part in more competitions with himself. Call it a uncontrollable need to win.)

Desmond and the Perpetual Tick-Tock.

It's not a lament of my aging existence on this bright blue-green marble... but really, time flies.

Put aside those 21 years that tick-tock perpetually in my mind's ear, nagging about how old I'm getting. Put that all aside, and just consider that my holidays are ending. (It pains me to even type it out.)

I still have a lot unaccomplished... a lot I wished I'd done, but my consolation is that the holidays have yet to end. And till then, I have the chance to make up for lost time.

Although, I must also say this: I hardly think I've wasted and squandered my holidays away. It has just been spent in a way contrary to what I had imagined it to be. Just because a different purpose has been fulfilled, hardly subtracts from fruitfulness.

(This individual knows it is a premature end to the entry, but he insists on stopping now. Because denial is the cheapest plastic surgery, ever. And if you never look into the mirror, you'll never see yourself age.)

Desmond and the No Show.

And so the historic moment passes. No sun to watch, no neck to strain, no eye to blind. Just rain and grey clouds. And cold air that calls for warm sweater.

The morning couldn't have been more perfect.

Nothing beats waking up to rainy weather. Nothing. Not even 500year-cycle solar eclipses. Plus, I got to wear real layers on our Sunny Island.

Yes, sweaters count.