Desmond and B. WinturB.

Bobby Winturburg wandered into the wilderness of the night and found out--the hard way--that bears have no sewage system. Needless to say, he'll be finding some other way than solitary walks in bear-infested woods to relieve his stress. I suggest dear Wintur-B tries blogging, as I will again.

Desmond & the Name He Can't Even Spell.

Life is an infinitely strange affair. You meet foreign people on foreign buses in foreign lands, and they teach you the same life lessons your parents taught you: learn to be peacemakers, learn to be accepting.

I met an ex-war-journalist on the bus in Berlin the other day and he offered me help with directions. Of course I knew where I was going, but I'm not above asking for directions, and so we got to talking. We talked about Germans and friendliness, and German weather (which is oddly like the Irish one), and after awhile of talking (of conflict and layman philosophy), he pulled his jeans-leg to his knee, revealing a prosthetic limb where the flesh should have been.

The biggest thing I got from our short talk--which regrettably ended with a handshake and a first name that I can't even spell--was a sense of weariness from someone I felt had good intentions. (Now, I realise Dad and Mum taught me not to judge a book by it's cover, but let's say the guy had good intentions). I felt he was tired, and at 26, to speak like you've seen the best and worst of half a century is... just saddening. It's not sad, but it's saddening.

That's when I realised--even if I've always knew it was possible--that even Good Samaritans tire. Maybe they don't tire of doing good, and being good, but perhaps they tire of trying to fight for the good of all men. Maybe they stop making peace, and just settle for being peaceful people.

I know it's a heavy entry, and I don't normally do heavy entries anymore. And this isn't a cautionary tale of sorts, although if you take it that way, "good for you". But I'm writing this partly to remember, and partly to free the bottleneck I've experienced writing-wise.

Dear Friend, Do Not Grow Weary in Well Doing. Because in Due Season...

Desmond and the Pardon-My-Unchristmassy-Blog.

Dear World,

I sincerely apologise for the lack of festive cheer thislast year. Well, at least that's how it must have seemed, because for the first time in a few years, Repeatedly's December saw no worrying amount of Christmas blogging with Irishy Photos and snow and ice and whatnot.

Please do not worry, World. I'm mostly just speechless to be have been here in Ireland for Christmas. Years ago, I wrote that I wanted to do so. I never, never expected it to have come true. Me of Little Faith then, I suppose? In December 08', at the height of my massive Ireland-Christmas blogging, I posted a certain picture. And a few weeks ago, I was in the car in town, and looked up and realised I was looking straight at the same picture from my blog.

World, I've met the 'Eric' who was wished a Merry Christmas. It turns out it was Limerick. So, even though it's nearly 3 weeks late, I want to wish all Erics and Gapores a Merry Christmas, and a happy new year.

Dreams do come true. (Sometimes. What? Would you rather I'd lie to you and say they always do? Didn't think so. Have a good year, World.)

Desmond and the (in)Preperation.

It's been a long while since I've blogged. One month actually! So much happens in a month--so much happens that one or two paragraphs never quite cover what you have to say.

Plus, what do you really have to say anyways? People say, "bring on the photos, and spare me the words!", but you know in your heart of hearts, no photo could ever represent fully your experience, no photo could repeat the complexity that is your feelings.

And maybe videos could do a little better than their visually static cousins, but they're essentially the same: insufficient.

When you're here, you have to prepare yourself for loss.

Desmond the True Fact.

Everyday Ireland grows a little more on me. True fact.

I love how quiet it gets at night, and how you can get hellos just by walking down the street. I love when it gets foggy and I embarrass myself by thinking there's a fire. I love that I can't tell when the traffic lights turn. I love seeing well-behaved dogs walking by with their well-behaved owners. I love that I can exhale and produce mist. I love that it's been awhile here now, and I'm still getting excited about things.

Truly the grass is greener, the seas, bluer. I love Ireland.

Desmond and the Spider Convention.

Where do spiders go to die? My house, I'd say. There are so many of them here it's like I've bumbled none-the-wiser into Ireland during their Annual Spiders' Convention: Charlotte -- Webbed or Webber?

And naturally, the elitist in me feels a great need to mark my boundaries. But spiders don't respond to pee-demarcations as dogs do. And unfortunately for me, my fight or flight instinct varies according to what I'm wearing. You'll never catch me stomping a spider in shorts and slippers. That's like walking into the Cullen house with a paper-cut.

(Yes. I made a Twilight reference. Bite me. --WOH-HO! And I'm on a roll!)

But it's true, spiders are meant to be fought with whilst wearing the right equipment. Because the spiders here are huge asses. No, I mean they actually have large bottoms and long legs. I wonder if they feel pressured by Sunny-island Spiders, to maintain that elusive size 2, or size 0.

What? So they're spiders, but they're not that different than Humans I assure you. Those little buggers have freaking conventions discussing the nature of great literary characters!

Which is why you must never, never underestimate a spider.

Especially when you're wearing shorts and flip-flops.

(Irish fun-fact#3: They have so many many rainbows!)

Desmond and the Dancing Monkey.

Life is unexpected, as long-time residents of this lovely blue-green marble know it to be. Yes, we humans understand that there are places on earth where gravity seemingly fails, places where the laws of physics become mere echoes of themselves (read: Disneyland); places where pain turns to masochistic joy, where we guard un-gold-like treasure with the barbarity of pirates.

Yes. Pirates.

Which is fair to say, because 'Pirates' is merely missing an M and a letter-placement swap from being 'Primates'.

Which is also fair to say, because sometimes we behave like monkeys. Barbaric monkeys. And I suppose occasionally it'd be nice to see a performing Monkey dressed as a Pirate balancing on a blue-green marble.

But sometimes it's just off-putting. And so I try my hardest to not be too expectant, because I know human-monkeys will, more often than not, let you down. And you, Other Human-Monkey, will fall flat on your face and the world will laugh, because circuses must deliver sweet-and-salted pleasure, at the expense of fumbling jesters. Insert Frownie Face here.

(Unrelated Irish fact#2: The wind sounds like a cranky old man dragging around his cranky old wagon.)

Desmond and the First Rains.

Ireland the Country has been great. Emphasis on the 'R' for that Scottish ring to the word. Why Scottish? Because it's close enough. I experienced me first real Irish rainy day today, and it's not at all bad. I love it. I love grey clouds, and rainy days.

Of course, I am also too busy living to get the photos off my camera into the laptop. You would think I have more time to do all these, but really I don't. And I don't quite know why either. Ah, Life. Full of ya mysteries. We don't question the Laws, we are just subjected to it.

Which is a dire, dire, way to look at it. But World, I've never been much of a fighter. No Sir, no progress for me. No porridge, no soup. Just the bread, and maybe Scotland. Because that's close enough.

Desmond and Ireland(Original Version).

Hello World. You know how things can sometimes be so surreal? Like being told life is about being in a teacup--which is insane--and then finally having it happen to you at the carnival, beside your neice, and her screaming friends? Teacup rides are real my friend, teacup rides are very real.

And so are experiences. Real, and surreal. Like finally being in Ireland. Yes, I'm here, and it feels strange to know that how ever I've seen it before in photographic replica is true to that which is replicated. Cows, horses along the roads. Fields, and plains, and nice rusted fences. Ireland has not let me down visually. The only inconsistency I've noticed is the weather. I'm told we came in a good, and rare, week where the sun is up and shining.

Which is a decent take on life. Sun, up and shining; Life, in a teacup.

Irish Fun Fact #1: The Irish thank their bus driver when getting off the bus.

Desmond and the Easing Back.

It's been a while, World. And even now, it seems a little rude to have disturbed the peaceful non-existence that has repeatedly.blogspot.com for the past few weeks. But I thought I should write, because I feel obligated to this blog. Nearly six years and counting.

A lot changes in six years. Heck, a lot changes in a month. And a lot will change in less than a fortnight's time. But for now, I'll just leave that till it comes. Take it easy on me, I'm easing back into writing: blogger style.

Here's the premature goodnight: Sweet dreams, World.

Desmond and the Ad.

Alrighto world, here's a little advertisement (for the three of you who still visit this blog). My friend has opened a blogshop selling polo tees and dress shirts for guys. Which makes roughly half the population of the world their demographic. So if you are part of that Half, or know someone from that Half, you should take note. Shop sells imported tees, from brands like Ralph Lauren and Lacoste. I say, I don't know much bout brands, but take a look anyway!

www.eurekavenue.blogspot.com

Desmond and the Post World Cup Finals (Lesser Words Ver.)

World Cup Season is over, pretty quickly too. Wherever did time go?!
EPL starts in 4 weeks (I think). Do I intend to watch/keep up? I don't quite know.
But that's a big step up from "heck, no!"

Desmond and the Post World Cup Finals.

There you have it. The Picture with four words that speaks a thousand words. I can't believe I watched the entire match, except for that few minutes during which the goal was scored. (No one coerced me into spectator-ship). Of course I feel like going on a whine-fest about how I missed the goal, but when I consider how sucky the Dutch must be feeling right now, I thank God for an innate tendency to compare myself with others. Which, in this instance, works to my benefit.

I was rooting for the Orange uniforms of the Netherlands--and that might be a little more literal than you think--so I was a little bummed that they lost. But I'm glad that it was to Spain, because these Spaniards have never won the World Cup, and frankly, I'm an underdog person. Glad to see a new winner of the Cup as opposed to the usual suspects.

What a great World Cup of insane matches and upsets. I'll catch You in 4 years' time.

Desmond and the Pre-World Cup Finals.

It's about three hours to the finals between Spain and Netherlands, and I'm seated on my bed, feeling an odd mix of excitement and nonchalance. But I think I'm going to do this -- I'm going to catch the Finals!!

Or at least try to stay up till the opening minute. We'll see! :)

Desmond and the Chart.

Mostly true.

Desmond and the Summer Hiatus.

Alright, I'll admit it. Blogger is boring me. And not because it's boring per se -- it's because I'm incredibly and amazingly lazy, and my whole blogging process is actually more laborious than it seems. My, my. The photo-surfing alone required to supplement blog entries is insane. And since it is neither Christmas nor December, the incentive (and the search words to use) dips to nearly zero.

Not kidding.

So what does this mean? Might this be my unceremonious bow out to the world of Blogger? Nah. It just means: check back in a few weeks time if you actually still read my blog. I've been very honored to have had your readership.

Now, I ask you to look past my seeming arrogance in the following paragraph, because I don't actually think my blog sits up there with AGTs. But I've thought of a clever sentence that requires the use of the well-known AGT-phrase, and since this entry is an epic-end-of-sorts, I'm throwing out all my clever, in the hopes that I might entertain for one last time. "Going out with a bang", as they say.

So here goes said-arrogant paragraph: My blog, as with All Good Things (AGT), must come to a summer hiatus, and return three months later, renewed for another season by The Powers That Be, (in this case, Me). Of course in Blogger world, as with the Network world, you never know what could happen. It might be cancelled for good, or be released on DVD. Who really knows?

So till then, I love you World, you've been great. See you in a bit!

Slothfully,
Desmond.
(For the record, that photo? Took a few hours. I've lost my touch.)

Desmond and the Playlist That Stopped Working Again.

So playlist has stopped working, and apparently so has Keating's marriage.

ARGH. WHY DOES EVERYTHING HAPPEN TO ME!?

(Not entirely certain what the seperation is about, but I've got to say, I kinda feel he's a jerk right now. Of course, it doesn't concern me, so I'll just shut it for now. Happy weekend, World!)

Desmond and the Man Like That.

I KNEW THIS DAY WOULD COME. BECAUSE PERSISTENCE PAYS OFF.
PLAYLIST WORKS AGAIN!

It's been nearly seven months since playlist crashed, and that is a long time. One forgets so much in seven months: the shirt and pants he wore on the 14th of September; the crazy finger guns inspired by a desperate need to sleep; the songs that shaped the many nights of blogging -- seven months is a long time.

I didn't remove my playlist from then, even when it crashed, because I'm a man of faith like that. Or at least, was, for the first week. After that, I left my playlist because I'm a man of sloth like that. But these things don't matter, because Man is insignificant like that. In the end, faith or sloth, or persistence, really did pay off.

I'm going to leave my songs in the playlist as they were for awhile, because I'm sentimental like that. Not forgetting slothful, and really really desperate for sleep. Some things never change.

(This Individual acknowledges the picture doesn't correspond to the blog. But he wasn't lying when he said he was desperate for sleep, and photo-surfing isn't as quick as it seems. He would like to prepare you for more of such incongruent photo-blogging.)

Desmond and the Excuses.

I know I should have blogged a long time ago when my exams actually ended, but I also should have bought a carton of milk days ago, and I haven't. Such is the cruelty of laziness. Or if you (I) prefer, the practicality of the world. You see, my urge to blog was sky-high during my exams because I needed to distract myself from studying, and still seem to be doing 'something'. Of course, now that the papers have been served and returned, I am seperated from Exams, albeit just temporarily.

But the practicality of the situation still persists. With my seperation from Exams, I no longer need the occasional blog entry as an excuse to stop studying. I can just stop, excuse-less.

You may judge me, and I may judge me, and my study buddies may judge me (that is, Mr Walrus-with-a-penguin's-body; amongst other ones I drew in a bid to waste more time not-studying)... but I only have this to say: "Excuse me, Exams are out. Let the sleep begin."

(This Individual means his words. Especially the plea to "let sleep begin". He feels he has weeks of naps and sleeps to catch up on.)