...it's good to be alive.

This Other World - Demo

2012-02-18T10:31:00.001-05:00

This Other World

Close your eyes, toss a coin, let it dance until it falls
Place the cards upon a table, let them sing it to us all
Fame and fortune’s counting raindrops when you don’t have no shoes on
Stranger days I have had just sleeping with the TV on

Here lays the ghost of what could have been
So, I’ll carve you out of this other world
I’ll carve you out of this other world

All the roads that bleed you empty under stars that always burn
Twist and turn these worn out tires making sure you can’t return
Spinning wheels past the barnstars that lead you to the end
Hoping luck can somehow find you in the words of a friend.

Here lays the ghost of what could have been
So, I’ll carve you out of this other world
I’ll carve you out of this other world
I’ll carve you out of this other world

Lost & Found Demo

2012-02-13T22:22:00.002-05:00

A new original song (demo) for Single White Band. It won't end up anything like this when we all work on it along with two other originals by Leslie and Andy which is a good thing. Hopefully it works, sometimes they don't. It will be interesting to see what the final version ends up like.

Lost and Found by C.Dempsey 2012

Verse 1
B G E
I need you more than a beer on a weekday.
B G E
I want you more than a bar on the subway.
B G E
I like you better when we get along this way.
B G E
I love you more than all the words I could say.

Chorus:
A E     B
When you’re here I can feel the future.
A     E                 B
See the music float with shape and color.
A E           B
Mix around and you twist my senses.
A E      G F#m B
Gonna get back all the time that we have lost and found.

Verse 2
I need you more than neon lights in the city’s gray.
I want you more a little more than from the last day.
I like you better when you lose the games you play.
I love you more than all the words I could say.

Chorus:
A E     B
When you’re here I can feel the future.
A     E                 B
See the music float with shape and color.
A E           B
Mix around and you twist my senses.
A E       G F#m E
Gonna get back all the time that we have lost and found.
E/A E/A E/A E/A/B
Lost and found, lost and found, lost and...

Verse 3
I need you more than a beer on a weekday.
I want you more than a bar on the subway.
I like you better when you get down this way.
I love you more than all the words I could say.

Chorus: x3
When you’re here I can feel the future.
See the music float with shape and color.
Mix around and you twist my senses.
Gonna get back all the time that we have lost and...
When you’re here I can feel the future.
See the music float with shape and color.
Mix around and you twist my senses.
Gonna get back all the time that we’ve lost and...
When you’re here I can feel the future.
See the music float with shape and color.
Mix around and twist my senses.
Gonna get back all the time that we’ve lost and found.

The Cat

2012-02-07T23:43:00.010-05:00

I had been to the office numerous times before. So much so in fact, they buzzed me in if I simply looked up at the security camera. The office was not your typical New York Construction Management affair of beige cubicles surrounded by early nineties motivational posters. This company was cutting edge. The girl on the front desk was neither dumb nor beautiful. The few cubicles that lay behind her were waist high and large as a church door. The ceiling was further from me than the other side of the room. Giant pieces of art clung to the cold bare exposed walls, static as they were incomprehensible. An oil painting of a piece of wood, a watercolor of a carpenter’s tool box and a badly charcoaled drawing of a welder’s glove.

One always grabbed my attention every time I entered. A three foot by four foot heavily framed photograph of a ship stuck on a sand dune after the tide had long since gone out. The irony of which I’m sure seemed to be lost on the funky cube dwellers in a similar situation - that is, if the boat represented their dreams and the receding ocean represented all time and happiness. It was all lost on me, not because its meaning was beyond me but that it simply had none. I love art, I love how it’s an underused vector of feelings, I love how it takes you places and I love how it exposes people for who they really are.

The art in this office was simply, sterile shite.

I was greeted by Mr. Peterson, a tall thin man in his fifties. Minimally polite he reminded me of an old sea captain without the tales. A man who had travelled the globe and saw nothing. He spoke with a serious tone regarding the most mundane of issues.

- Colin, good to see you. Let’s walk to the back room and go over the drawings shall we?

Wow, what gravitas, this must be important. It wasn’t. It never is, I’ve worked at this long enough.

We were to discuss a new building we were constructing together in the west village, issues with the neighbors and permit delays. Just once during a meeting I wish we could discuss something truly unique or unusual. Like how the people in the neighboring building were aliens and required a wide berth...or something, I don’t know, something exciting.

- They call themselves Aqualdaburgs, they exist partially in this dimension and feed on the skin of the living. The government has settled them at this address as it’s right above the fifth polar tri-spike into tomorrow. There will be a delivery every Tuesday between 11am and 2pm of human skin from a local hospital. Do not make eye contact with the driver. There’s a agreement in place but if any of your laborers fail to turn up for work call us immediately and cover yourself in milk. Curl up into the fetal position, close your eyes and breath through your nose until we get there.

Unfortunately it’s more like Lego for grownups.

I explained that my boss was parking the car and would be along shortly. He reacted as if I told him my boss was out on the street taking a dump and would be up as soon as he could wipe his arse on the next passing child. He left me alone as I waited for my bosses fresh arsed arrival.

I passed the time watching the office cat make its rounds through the over sized cubicles past various employees collecting affection. I had seen it do this before and had also noticed previously that there was something, well, off about the cat. It was a clumsy little fucker. It was bright white, over weight and very old. It tripped over itself, banged it’s head on the printer, and stared off into space before totally miss-timing an easy leap from one desk to another. Graceful this cat was not but the staff loved it. Judging by the atmosphere in the place it was probably the only living creature anyone loved. This was the type of trendy workplace that a cat like this could only exist as some type of ironic non-cat.

- Yeah it’s our office cat but it doesn’t act like one. It likes to flop around like a dog but that’s cool. Whatever, we don’t judge it.

Perhaps the person buying the art also bought the cat. That made sense.

Their minimal hospitality towards me may have fuelled this animosity I had towards the cat. They loved it, regardless of its inability to be a simple agile cat.

It was loved.

I was being tolerated.

It is a cat.

I am a human being.

My boss arrived and the meeting began. As soon as Mr. Peterson sat down the cat was rubbing against his legs. Minutes later it hopped up onto the desk and was stalking the blueprints tripping over pencils and giving us each a thousand yard stare.

What the fuck is wrong with this cat?

My mind drifted from my job to the look I was receiving from this feline fuckwit. It surely knew me from all the other times I visited the office.

Why is this cat bugging me so much?

Mr. Peterson rubbed its back as it stared at me like a spoilt child. Why was it staring at me, or at something near me? No it was staring at me. Wait, maybe something behind me. It was staring near me? That's when after all these visits I suddenly realised what it was about this particular cat that unsettled me. Before my mind could tell my mouth to not say it, my ears heard it.

- Mr. Peterson, do you know that your cat is cross-eyed?

The meeting stopped. Silence. My boss glared at me. Mr. Peterson’s droning eased to a freeze. He slowly looked at the cat and then back to me. Without a hint of emotion and with that pointlessly traveled gravitas he stated matter-of-fact.

- No it is not.

And then continued with the meeting as if nothing happened. My boss threw me a few more bewildered looks. I focused as best as I could on my notebook and scribbled away with notes but my mind drifted again.

Why did I say that?

Scribble, scribble.

That cat is cross-eyed!

Scribble, scribble.

Why would he deny the fact that his cat is cross-eyed? They could get it fixed. These guys are loaded!

Before I knew it the meeting was over. We shook hands and Mr. Peterson retired to the back office while the cat meandered in that general direction, sorta, kinda. It was hard to tell where it was going half the time to be honest.

Outside my boss cornered me. He knew me too well but asked the question anyway.

- Why did you tell Mr. Peterson that his cat was cross-eyed?

All I could think was the truth.

- Because it was.

- You don’t have to say the first thing that comes into your head you know.

- I didn’t mention the art work, I mean what’s up with that crap?

- He collects that crap. He also pays our fucking bills so keep a fucking lid on it in future.

I was in the wrong, I knew it.

- He has money, he could at least get his cat fixed. That’s all I’m saying.

I meant it, the image of that cat bumping around the art strewn office filled my belly up with stones. Who gives a flying fuck about your shitty art? Fix your cat.

He shook his head in disbelief and put it behind him.

- Go back to the office and work on those items Mr. Peterson wanted done by the end of the day.

I cut through the crowds to Union Square and got the L train back to the office. My mind was blank from the meeting. That boat, that fucking boat on the sand dune. I pulled out the notebook and opened it to assess the work I had to start. To my horror was the day’s date and three pages filled with various pictures of spirals, boats and of the cat.

Fuck!

How do I fix this?

Absorb.

2012-01-28T23:10:00.002-05:00

I wrote this song over a period of a month last year. I wanted to write a simple tune with basic lyrics relating to current events in the news. I wanted to absorb what was going on around me. I didn't want to spend the usual torturous time of writing lyrics as I normally do so the news, both radio and TV was on pretty much consistently. I wasn't over thinking this one. If memory serves me right it was mostly domestic political showboating such as the national debt ceiling, Irish default worries and the Arab spring.

Somewhere after getting the music down and in the beginning stages of writing the lyrics, Anders Behring Breivik went on a rampage killing 77 people in Norway. I simply chose to ignore it, I can't write about that. I could not stop thinking about it though and slowly it made its way into the song. The killing on Utoya Island of 69 teenagers from the Labor Party's youth wing I found particularly disturbing. Pick your flowers, you’re king of an island.

So that's how this one came about. Normally I record a rough demo version with the notion to record it proper sometime. I never do. Anyway, slowly this year I'm gonna start posting them here, all of them. I thought I'd get this one out of the way first. I simply do not know what to do with this song. I've never played it live and most likely never will, but it exists. The title comes from a phrase I find myself using when I am about to lose my patience. Again, it's a very rough demo.

Stop This Madness

Digging a hole, looking for answers,

Shining a light, searching for darkness,

Empty your lungs, begging for silence,

Pick your flowers, you’re king of an island.

And the hairs on my arms stand up for you,

All that scares me drives you on like fuel,

To a flame ,

From a spark,

That once,

Was silent.

Stop This Madness

Tell me for now it's gonna be forever,

Tell me what you want is what I need,

Somethings I just can’t believe in,

Sometimes seeing is not believing.

And the hairs on my arms stand up for you,

All that scares me drives you on like fuel,

To a flame ,

From a spark,

That once,

Was silent.

Stop This Madness

The Liar Show Review by Jester Journal

2012-01-28T16:16:00.001-05:00

Liar, Liar

Themed night of storytelling and stand-up blends the tragic and comic in an involving way

By Gabrielle Nash / Jester correspondent

The Liar Show, a high-concept blend of comedy and storytelling seen at the 92Y Tribeca on January 19, blends funny moments with serious ones as five performers try to convince the audience that all their stories are true. (In this performance, two of the five had fictional tales).

Picking the fake stories among those delivered by this group of skilled performers – the Liar Show has run in different venues around New York regularly for years, usually with different storytellers every time – was actually a challenging task on this night. Comedian Colin Dempsey’s true story of the perceived origin of a pair of shoes he bought, and the luck they may or may not have brought him, while living in Australia was artfully constructed in a way that made it seem false. Monologist Leslie Goshko told her story, about where a pet mouse ended up, in such believable fashion that many were convinced it was true.

Jim O’Grady, an author and reporter, gleefully told a tale that was more obviously a constructed fiction, in which he unwittingly donned attire while interacting with black children living next door to him that made it seem as if he were getting a thrill from acting like a Southern plantation owner.

Writer/director Tracy Rowland and author Kambri Crews told personal stories with serious focus and resonance, but still managed to play up certain comic aspects. Rowland, recounting what a character her father was – and not always in a positive way – talked about how his actions over the years didn’t exactly inspire them to get extravagant in his funeral arrangements, which included empty seats, a cardboard box of ashes and music played on a boombox. Crews recalled how she lived a real-life version of the movie “Sixteen Candles,” where everyone in her family forgot about her 16^th birthday, only her house was far over on the “other side of the tracks.”

It was inspiring how those with serious stories could find humor in the face of adversity. At the same time, the silly stories in the show had their own solemn overtones. A nice mix of the range of human experience comes out through the structure of the Liar Show’s storytelling and performances. The Liar Show will also keep you talking about its tales long after it ends.

The Liar Show returns at the Cornelia Street Cafe on February 4.

openclosedthenandnow

2012-01-22T23:16:00.002-05:00

I went for a long walk this evening for some much needed exercise and ended up at a local guitar store. I cut straight to the high end section and played every single acoustic guitar they had. The Gibson J45, Hummingbird, I even tried a Taylor or two but my favorite remains the Martin. I play a Martin DCME but they don’t make them anymore, discontinued. I fell in love with a Martin HD28 Dreadnought. The smell of the wood, the feel of the fretboard and the weight of it, beautiful. I played it for about twenty minutes not realizing I had gone into my own little world and was singing out loud. Customers came and went but I didn’t care.

I remember when I first started playing I sang with my eyes closed for most of a gig. I hated performing to be honest but I always loved the sense of achievement afterwards. Conquering shyness, a total lack of confidence and zero self esteem. This evening I was singing like I owned the bloody place. I've always used music to be somewhere else, that's the great thing about music. I'm here but I'm not here, and now it seems I can do it with my eyes open.

Martin HD28

There's something ugly in those woods.

2012-01-14T22:47:00.002-05:00

Road To Albany

It had been raining on our road trip the whole day. The long straight roads that cut through the empty spaces of south western Australia made us feel like we were stuck on an infinite loop. We had been warned that the weather that time of year could be unpredictable. It was. In a break from the downpour we parked the car and hiked into a wood to stretch our legs. The dark overcast sky hung low above our heads and it became increasingly uninviting the deeper we ventured into it. We eventually stumbled upon this unearthly creation: A deformed human face crossed with an octopus in tree form. What a find, all the way out here, alone! It started raining.

Welcome food, I mean friends.

We returned to the car and continued on our infinite road trip to Albany in silence.

Not Quite Obnoxious Enough!

2012-01-02T23:03:00.004-05:00

Somewhere on our road trip from Canberra to Sydney, Australia we decided to take a detour and visit the Blue Mountains. A really nice place to get a photo some people told us along the way. I had purchased my first ever proper camera some months back and was determined to take as many a fine a picture I could on my travels. It really was an amazing scene. Beautiful.

Lovely stuff, got my Kangaroo skin hat on and everything!

Then I spotted this particular rock formation jutting out over the plain below. It was famous for looking somewhat like a face. That's when in all my youthful inexperience I thought of an even better photograph to take at the Blue Mountains.

I have an Idea...

I ran over to it, climbed to the top and posed for what I thought until I developed the film was the best ever photograph ever taken at The Blue Mountains by anyone, ever. See below:

Twat!

Obnoxious, arrogant and somewhat unsettling. Oh to be young and stupid. I really thought I was the bee's knees.

Don't ever tell me growing old and wiser is a bad thing.

Diner on The Edge of America

2011-12-13T23:32:00.004-05:00

Once a month I meet up with two good friends of mine for coffee. We always meet at the same diner, same time and sit in the same section. Michael is a fellow Irishman and an incredibly talented stage actor while Jeff is what I would consider one of the funniest comics I've ever met. I love our coffee meet-ups, we talk about anything and everything. As the youngest and least experienced I've learned a lot from them both over the years. I'm very lucky.

The last time we met up I noticed a photographer outside the diner taking photographs. He was there for the entire evening but I paid him little notice. Tonight while having coffee the same photographer approached our table upon recognizing us. He showed us the below photograph which is part of a project called Diner on The Edge of America. Kinda cool methinks. It was a very random and lovely end to our evening.

I love this kind of inside outside image that for me gives you the increased feeling of being there...it's like the city is seeping into the diner...into the thoughts of the people inside...the city and the people are never separate not in New York...never in the Diner on the Edge of America - Jez Coulson.

Check out Jez Coulson's website here for his photography.

The Happiness Helicopter

2011-12-06T23:18:00.002-05:00

Bob just made the invention of a lifetime, if only he could feel good about it. That's Shelly's problem.

Helicopter Happynes 5-13-09

Downbeat Depressed Coworker :-(

2011-12-04T01:51:00.000-05:00

Tom, Bob and Jill just want to have an upbeat lunch break for once.

Depressed Coworker 5-5-09

Rev-ASS: Pharmaceutical Commercial #1

2011-12-02T22:44:00.002-05:00

Another forgotten sketch. This is a commercial for a drug I made up. Oh how I wish it was real. Enjoy.

Rev-Ass #1 - May 14th, 09

If you thought that was bad just think of the ones I'm not sharing.

110010010010010011110100101001

2011-11-30T00:04:00.004-05:00

I was going through some old writing on my computer tonight when I found what I can say with much gusto and confidence is the most ridiculous thing I've ever written. A parody sketch of an ethnic based comedy show. I wrote it, it made me laugh and I filed it away with the other weird stuff without showing anybody and forgot all about it. Tonight was the first time I seen it in over two and a half years.

I remember walking through the west village one night when I came upon a poster advertising a show inside a local theater. The basic premise was that the performer was of one ethnicity and that his wife was of another and they were both in therapy because of it. Why? I never bothered to find out. I had seen a lot of these shows being advertised at the time. I done stand up comedy for over five years and I always tried to avoid talking about being Irish. It's hard to do when you live abroad but it is possible. I've never found ethnic based humor funny to be honest but some people base their whole careers on it. I went home and wrote a sketch taking the piss out of the show and the poster and went to bed. It was ridiculous, stupid and weird in that way that only makes me laugh and laugh alone. That was that. I scratched my itch and the following day I tried to write something proper.

Upon finding it tonight I wanted to post it for a laugh. Why? Because it's stupid and silly and it still makes me laugh even though it's terrible. Then I thought of a piece Stewart Lee performed a year after I wrote my sketch that also cracked me up. It is in my opinion an accurate assessment unfortunately. See below:

Then I remembered how I felt when I saw the poster, I remember that I was pissed off. I had done a show recently that did not go well. I remember being embarrassed simply being a part of it and that a few performers had done well with some lazy, racist and misogynistic material. A few even drew some of the night's biggest laughs by simply mining material from the stereotypes of their own ethnicity. I wasn't jealous, just confused. I don't think I was ever cut out to be a comedian anyway. If you didn't laugh at the Stewart Lee video you probably would agree.

So the sketch is not a parody I realize but a satire. It still makes me laugh, probably only me though.

Parody - Therapy - 4 21 09

Scenery

2011-11-08T23:27:00.000-05:00

We took the Indian Pacific Train from Perth to Adelaide. It would take three full days on the world's longest stretch of straight rail track through the unchanging scenery of the Australian bush. There would be two stops along the way so we could get out and stretch our legs. I had my camera, my journal and my guitar. I would take photos, write, play music and enjoy the experience as best I could. That was the plan at least. Taking a year off to backpack around globe meant I had already had my fair share of long train and bus journeys. I was well used to it, or so I thought.

We slowly pulled out of Perth and through the course of the day watched all signs of civilization fade to red dust out the window. It was exciting to be moving again. The romance of departure always outshines the harsh reality of arrival.

I was glad to leave Perth, work was hard to find and when I found it, it was backbreaking. It wasn't an unpleasant experience, just a tough one. I had been unlucky for too long, too many times. I needed a change of scenery, we all did.

Our first stop came that night for a few hours at Kalgoorlie, a mining town known for its topless bartenders (skimpies) and brothels that straddle a colossal open pit gold mine. We took a brief tour of the town, peered in some brothel windows and then grabbed a few beers at a local skimpy bar. We sat amongst the tired locals and joined in the admiration of the busty skimpies. Later when the train's horn cut through the town we reluctantly made our way back to the station as sure-footed as we could.

By day two I was slowly starting to lose my mind. The overpriced toasted cheese sandwiches on the train were as bad as the tea they served, as bland as the view out the window. It was unfortunately the only nourishment that was palatable from the kitchen. The train unexpectedly slowed to a stop beside what looked like the set of a Mad Max movie. Corrugated sheets of metal formed a perimeter wall and large truck tires weighed down sheets of plastic placed over the structure acting as a roof. The train's horn drew out from it a tall old man with long hair and even longer beard. There was a conversation and food and water were thrown from the drivers section of the train. The conductor explained that the man had built his house from trash found along the railway line and the passing trains stopped to check up on him, unofficially of course. He seemed like quite the celebrity in this empty part of the world.

As the scenery repeated itself outside the window I moved around the train in a desperate attempt to occupy my mind. I could not write, my guitar lay silent on the seat and my camera was rendered useless after just one single photograph out the window a day before.

An hour ago, 72 hours ago - An Unchanging View

Cook was a ghost town in the middle of nowhere. It was our second and last stop before Adelaide. We all abandoned the train and wandered into what was once a railway support town to stretch our legs again. Miles from anywhere, it had been bleeding its population for the last decade or so. As I bought come chocolate from the town's only shop, an old woman explained that the population was currently only 4 people.

The Edge of Town

I don't have any photographs of the town itself, as the first thing I did was walk to its edge and photograph nothing, miles and miles of nothing. Roads disappeared to nowhere, I had never quite seen anything like it. Absolute silence. Of course it had numbed me for two days as it sped by through the window, but to stand in its static beauty was really something. I kept an eye out for snakes and other such bush fare but my overall concern was the fear of being consumed by the growing feeling of not being wanted. I was an unwelcome visitor. I looked back at the town, the scattered buildings and the hulking train laying beside it. Year after year it would slowly fade away like a veterans parade.

I can remember the remaining town folk being friendly and we acquired water and snacks and a splashing of the local history. I explored a few of the empty buildings to kill time and to attempt to build an idea of what it must have been like with, well, more people. I remember peering into the window of an old school, I remember the shop and a few smaller houses that had belonged to workers and abandoned mechanical equipment that lined the tracks for supplying the train with fuel and water. Most of all what I remember was the surrounding bush. Unmoving, it stretched forever.

The Road To Nowhere

Beware of The Bend

Maybe it was the heat, the bland food on the train, or the almost two thousand miles of straight track and unchanging scenery but this road sign cracked me up. I fucking lost it. Out here in the middle of nowhere in a ghost town of only four people was a road sign warning of a bend in a road that went nowhere. This photograph was worth the journey alone.

A fellow passenger told me to look at the front of the train. I asked why and he told me that it was covered in kangaroo remains and splattered with blood. The train had been hitting them as they crossed the tracks for the last two days and the front had apparently acquired a monstrous deathly facade. I decided to pass on the spectacle. As I boarded I saw him with his friend standing at the front of the train giggling and taking photographs at what I'm sure was a baked on memory I'm glad I don't have.

The train pulled out and we pursued the horizon for another day until we arrived in Adelaide early the next morning. After a few days of exploring the city we took another train to Melbourne. We rented an apartment on Little Bourke Street right in the heart of the city. I got a temp job filing claim investigations at an insurance company and ended up by accident/paperwork error with a 12th floor corner office overlooking the entire city of Melbourne. Not bad for a temp but I kept my mouth shut, dressed nice and made sure I came in early and left late. For some unknown reason, luck was always on my side while living in Melbourne and I had three long months of it.

Every evening I relived the most beautiful vision of an entire city lighting up at the end of the day. It pulsed and it heaved and it slowly burst into colorful life in absolute silence far below me. Constantly moving and changing it was always that much more beautiful when I thought of Cook, and that bend in the road.

Occupy Wall Street

2011-10-17T00:39:00.006-04:00

After hearing about the growing Occupy Wall Street movement for some time now, I realized this would not simply be a flash in the pan like so many other protests I have witnessed. I lost faith in politics pretty late in life, I've always felt that my optimism has been my biggest flaw when dealing with reality in general. I live in my own world the majority of the time only dipping out to taste reality when it suites me. Watching the protests in Dublin last year and how little they achieved after the government oversaw the largest economic collapse in the western world deeply troubled me, I simply gave up. Close friends mocked my late coming to the table of the jaded and it was truly a depressing time for me to be honest. I don't like seeing friends and family struggle, just because I'm doing okay now does not mean I can forget times when I was broke and feeling depressed, useless, trapped, insecure, irrelevant and at best simply embarrassed. In recent times I've seen rational people turn to opposing political parties in desperation regardless of what they stood for. The I don't like these guys so I'm voting for those guys mentality. At home i've even heard close friends unload on immigrants forgetting that I am one elsewhere.

The biggest hurdle is often a person's own perception of themselves. Today I really felt that the folk banging drums and chanting believed that they deserve better. Void of aggression and cheap slogans I found them to be intelligent and genuinely, well, pissed off. I met Two Sanitation workers protesting against Fracking because they simply cared about having clean drinking water in the New York and Pennsylvania area. There was no shouting or red faced screaming, just two middle aged guys willing to spend their day off talking calmly to all who passed by including me.

A local fifty something white haired tattooed building supervisor explained to me how the local pizza parlor Majestic was funded by a European business man to provide $10,000.00 worth of Pizza each day to the protesters. "It's about fucking time New Yorkers woke up like we did to these dick heads in Wall Street they keep saying" he said referring to this faceless European pizza funder. He explained how his fiance was related to the owner's sister hence how he knew about it. "Ten Thousand Dollars is not a lot of money when you think about it" someone else chimed in. It doesn't, not when you realize not only what is at stake but that most people have had a crash course on economics using billions and trillions as units. Ten grand is nothing.

I decided to walk right into the middle of the protest to see for myself what these people were like. Unfortunately my camera-phone battery began to die hence the lack of photographs. The police stood nearby watching everything, they were relaxed and courteous. The protesters were also calm and friendly, willing to talk with anyone about their various causes. Some seemed to be on first name terms with each other after what I suspect was due to recently shared experiences while most gave each other a familiar nod and smile. Placards were held high. How about a maximum wage? Imagine what we can do if we stick together? Never, never, never, ever vote republican? Not sure I actually agree with any of that myself - I'd vote McCain 2000 over Kerry 2004 any day.

I heard surprisingly few local accents, and a lot seemed like professional and seasoned protesters. I seen at least two genuine long haired doped up hippie types which other protesters appeared to tolerate if nothing else. Most fell between the 18-35 age bracket. Some still slept in their sleeping bags, free food was on offer, a large chalkboard schedule of marches and events rested beside a stand giving away free DVD's on the current crises. Donations welcome.

At the perimeter I could not help but notice the difficult job the NYPD must have had. Police officers observed the protest, helped in traffic issues and kept people from spilling onto the street due to the bulky barricades all the while acting as unofficial tour guides to the local area. Some even giving the Euro trash a brief run down on 9-11 and it's current rebuilding progress.

Everyone & Everybody

These guys below later fronted a parade along with a catholic priest carrying a golden bull on a platform. You worship a false god - painted on its side. Every religion was represented and it was the first time I ever seen so many people from so many backgrounds in a supportive roll together. "We are all gathered here today under many gods" shouted the woman speaker. "Under ONE god" a person in the crowd shouted back. "Mic check, mic check" - they chanted and she corrected herself and begun again. Not having a microphone a person would say a sentence at a time and everybody would chant it. It was an effective way to get the message out.

Drummers before the march

Wall street itself was empty. Tourists waved at the horse mounted cops and they waved back. Tours continued and several people had their picture taken in front of the New York Stock Exchange.

Empty Wall Street

At the center of the protest a large group had gathered to sing and give speeches. The speeches mostly consisted of leaders from many churches and organizations from around America showing solidarity. In the video below they were singing an old classic.

In the video below I managed to capture the very impressive way in which they got their message out without the use of a PA system. It reminded me of being at church when I was younger and how powerful it was to hear what the priest had just said chanted back to him.

After I circled the whole area I moved to the subway and took it back to Astoria. I was glad I made the trip out. I've heard wildly different things about the protest from both sides and I thought it would be educational at least to go visit it myself in person. The protesters are not the bad guys and neither are the police, both were behaving responsibly and treated each other with respect. Seeing so many young females involved was a relief. They bring common sense and besides, men in large numbers are idiots.

I'm not sure it's all good and I could see how a minority could infiltrate and cause trouble. I spoke to one guy who said the reason I heard so few native accents was because a company was shipping in young white unemployed protesters from California. A left wing funded venture was scooping up unemployed disenfranchised males from the west cost and paying for their stay at New York? How true is this? It was a security guard at a Wall Street barricade and just some guy I suppose. Although American, a substantial number of the protester's accents were definitely were not local. After many years of living here I still have trouble placing them, well except a Boston accent because they all sound like pirates.

TV cameras, radio interviews and several guys with microphones interviewing anybody and everybody littered the whole area. I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the excitement. Photographers were having a field day and I don't blame them. I was pissed that my camera phone had died. There was a lot to see.

So, that was that. After hearing all sorts about this protest I decided to take the 20 minute subway ride to check it out for myself and I'm glad I did. I'll be honest, I went with half a mind to mock it. Would I see something funny or ridiculous? Would their demands and placards be as over the top as the right wing? No, it was just a meeting of like minded people from a multitude of backgrounds and faiths with various causes that all fell under the same umbrella.

- We want things to be fair and better than they are now and we are frustrated and we feel powerless.

They were genuine and sincere. It's hard to argue against that. I took a break from day dreaming in my own little world and experienced a little reality on a sunday afternoon. I feel like I'm a little better because of it too.

On the way home I thought about my friends and family who have fallen victim to the recent economic circumstances and how little they had to do with it. I thought about how lucky I have been solely due to tragedy and geography and timing. We've all worked hard and maybe if these guys get their way that can actually mean something someday.

5 Bar Crawl: Subway Inn

2011-10-13T22:49:00.005-04:00

5 Bar Crawl

Out of the blue and for no reason at all other than it would give me the opportunity to see more of the city I love and live in, and also to have an excuse to drink more alcohol I decided to do a bar review. No ordinary bar review. I planned to pick five of New York's worst bars, go to each of them and review them at my own leisure. How did I define worst? I didn't. I simply wanted to visit bars that are any of the following:

1) Bars I've never been to before.

2) Dives.

3) Unsafe or have an element of danger.

4) Unusual / Unclean and/or unfriendly.

5) In some way interesting.

Bar #2: Subway Inn

Photo by me walking in sober.

The second bar I chose was the Subway Inn on 143 East 61st Street (corner of 3rd Ave & Lexington Ave). This dive bar is located right across from the prestigious Bloomingdales. I heard that a woman once bought a brasier there for $900 and her husband divorced her, I'm just saying. The bar probably feels the same way I do when I sit across from a skinny glazed eyed model on the subway when I'm all gaseous and bloated and playing Tetris on my cheap android cell phone holding in farts.

I didn't think a stink hole like this could possibly exist in such a fancy pants part of town but it does. My mate Sean suggested the place so I begrudgingly had to invite him along. Sean is the same loud guy from the previous review. He more than met his match in the loud and annoying department this time, more about that later. As of late, Sean has been doing quite well in New York and now hangs out with lots of second rate stand up comedians. This has resulted in him developing an incredibly annoying habit in which he thinks that loudly complaining about things in a heightened state of incredulation is funny. It isn't. This is his all time favorite comedy album. I rest my case.

He also likes to tweet about pointless shit such as him sitting beside Janeane Garofalo or that he can buy a cake at four in the morning unlike his midwestern friends and that's why he loves New York so much. His baseless confidence is now well displayed in his unshifting swagger when ordering a screwdriver. He even twists his two fingers around indicating the craftsman's tool itself. But as we say in Ireland: Sure he has a heart of gold, heart of gold. Translation: He is harmless retarded.

The calm before the storm

The walk up to the bar is one of the least interesting walks in New York. The streets are littered with over priced clothing stores managed by twats who serve over-entitled douche bags, a multitude of Gyms filled with stupid frightened people terrified of tomorrow or upscale eateries filled with a combination of all of the above. Outside a homeless man begged for changed as jocks texted on their iPhones and smoked. I walked in and my first impression was how loud the place was. Seriously loud, the last bastion of culture and the most basic human joy, The Conversation, was truly being beaten with the progress stick in here. In other words, y'know that thing that makes us all feel a little less lonely, well you wont be able to partake in it in here.

The bar was to the left and ran most of the length of the building. To the right were several booths, the first Sean had already occupied. At the back lay the toilets and trash cans. The light was low, the bar was lightly populated with regulars and the bar tenders very welcoming. The latter makes a bar, pure and simple.

Noise, Noise and Noise

To my pleasant surprise Sean had invited the talented Hattiesburg routed, Mississippi transplant Sharon Spell to join us along with his Brother David and his old school friend Meg. This was a relief as although Sean is like nails on a chalk board sometimes he does have lovely friends/family. It also meant I had other people to talk to.

Excellent & Attentive Bar Keeps.

By the time I grabbed an extra chair for our table in which the bar tenders were very helpful in helping me scout for, said my hello's and walked to the bar it had already started to fill up. I ordered a Gin & Tonic. Without asking they poured me a Tanquery on ice with a dash of tonic. It was strong pre-tip and even stronger post-tip. I normally drink beer but all they had was domestic in bottles and nothing of interest on tap. Not that you never drink from tap in a dive bar.

Sean & Sharon

Sean introduced me to his brother David and friend Meg both visiting for a week from Kansas. David is a baker although he had the demeanor and aesthetic of a bisexual jazz musician who travels from place to place to run from the guilt of killing a prostitute in a grappa soaked sex game gone wrong. He'll never get caught but his conscious just might. In the eighties they could have made a TV series about him.

Meg works in a bank and confessed within minutes of us meeting that she doesn't know what the hell she's doing half the time. She has considered stealing money and eloping with her boyfriend who is a former delivery man with anger management issues. All the photo's of him on her iPhone look like Dave Grohl which means that even though I've never met him, I like him. Meg has an art degree and sometimes makes elaborate paper airplanes with $100 bills when the manager is out for lunch.

Dave & Meg

The main compaint about the bar was the music. Both the choice although I realize it was jukebox decided, a clear indication that democracy doesn't work all of the time, most of the time. It was also freakishly loud. The speaker was right above our heads shooting us with a laser of lazy rap and sudo-tough hip hop.

Yeah, oh yeah, cuz i'm gonna someting something, cuz my bitches be something and such and what not,

I'm a mutha fucking something or some such, N-word, Whoot up? Yo'

Dreadful shite.

It was so loud and annoying in fact that I actively tried to block it out so I could listen to what Sean was rambling on about. Yeah, it was that bloody bad.

Screwdriver Please

By pure coincidence local comedienne and all round good egg Katrin Hier stopped by. Katrin works in fashion by day and was at a nearby fashion thingy and decided to stop by for a quick beer before her subway ride home. Our dive bar was a logical stop. We made sure she stayed for more than just the one she wanted.

Hier she is.

Loud and crowded

Sharon & Katrin

The toilets: For a dive bar they were quite functional. A complimentary beer was left on the toilet.

On the house.

The graffiti, the true indicator of a classic dive bar was somewhat lacking. I neither learnt nor unlearned something. What a shame.

Good? I wouldn't Bansky on it.

Strangely enough behind the shitter was a double over hand paper roll ass wipe apparatus. I guess sometimes you need both hands.

Let's fucking do this.

The Menu - All food cooked in noise.

Bling - Sean thought this was hilarious.

Food came in styrofoam boxes.

Four screwdrivers in.

Who caused the 2008 banking crisis?

Guys, you gotta listen to the notes I'm not playing, Jaaaazzz!

Screwdriver #6

Have you heard of my band Depeche Mixolydian Mode?

Peter Moses later joined us for two beers. Peter is also a New York based stand up comic who I always refer to as Lil' Don Draper. No one else calls him this but then again no one else calls me Mr. Super-Fantastic but that doesn't make it not true. Peter at about 5'- 9" is a fun size Jon Hamm.

Lil' Don Draper/Fun Size Jon Hamm

Actual Don Draper / Big Jon Hamm

Photo by me walking out drunk.

We all staggered out for the subway home although I don't recall much of it. Jazzman apparently spent the following day getting sick as he turned out to be a teetotaler that I pressured into drinking. Sean, Jazzman and Meg went back to Inwood, Katrin dashed back to Brooklyn and Lil' Don Draper, Sharon and I got the N train home. My last memory is of trying to speak without slurring on the train which always looks terrible regardless. Overall a fun night out, this is New York after all.

CONCLUSION:

Credit cards accepted. The bar is wheelchair assessable but the toilets are not. The jukebox is hogged by brainless tone deaf thugs and way too loud. Friendly bartenders. The regulars leave you alone while the irregulars pad out the place and get in your way, even on a week night it got very crowded. Most people there were more into getting hammered than conversing which alway gives a bar a desperate feel. The food was alright, nothing you would eat sober but not terrible. It's not a real dive bar just a lesser regular bar in a fancy neighborhood. Drinks were standard price. They do serve screwdrivers. If the person you are with is loud and annoying there will be music to drown them out and beat them at their own game.

The bar opened in 1937, Charlie the 97 year old owner is still on the scene and according to what I heard has no trouble chasing trouble makers from the place himself. The bar won the 2004 Dive Bar of NYC award. I can't help but feel it was a different bar back then. If I could make just one suggestion it would be to turn the music down. Then we could talk and discover what bars are really for. In the words of an old friend - A bar is the beach for people who cannot swim.

Where is it again?:
Subway Inn

143 East 60th Street, New York, NY10022

How do I get here via the subway?:
Lexington Ave/59th Street - N/Q/R Trains *60th street entrance in front of bar
Lexington Ave/63rd Street - F Train
59 Street Station - 4/5/6/6X Train

*Side Note:
If you're in the area I recommend a good Irish bar called Murphy's on 2nd Ave between 51st & 52nd. It is the very first bar I drank in when I moved to New York.

Zombie White Band

2011-10-11T22:52:00.002-04:00

My band Single White Band has unfortunately ended due to everyone being killed. The good news is that our undead corpses rose from the grave to continue with the music. The new band motto will now be: Music made for the living from the undead. The band has also changed its name to Zombie White Band. They will be slowly touring around the globe and across America this fall. Please check them out but your distance.

Dr. Schiller has gone from Brain Expert to Brain Eater.

Zaniela

"Top O' The Mourning To yah!"

Zolin

Andy Christie is now Drawn Of The Dead

Zandy

Leslie has switched from Fresh to Flesh Direct

Zezlie

For an explanation as to how this happened please watch the video below:

Newtown Creek Bike Trip

2011-09-18T23:35:00.006-04:00

Every weekend I go for a bike ride in order to remind my body what moving around and being healthy actually feels like. Today I decided to skip my usual route which normally includes the Noguchi Museum, Sculpture Park, 5Pointz and Williamsburg for somewhere I had been putting off for sometime. I read about Newtown Creak on Radiohead's website and via the Newtown Creek Alliance, or at least the environmental disaster there. It is the location of America's worst ever oil spill, three times in fact the size of The Exxon Valdez spill which dumped close to 750,000 barrels of oil in Prince William Sound in 1989.

The creek separates the boroughs of Queens and Brooklyn. I've biked over it numerous times and explored some of the sections on its north side. I had heard that there was a Newtown Creek Nature Walk which had been built pretty recently. Today I decided to pay it a visit but not before getting lost first.

What I thought were abandoned tracks were in fact part of the Montauk Branch line which runs from the city to Montauk at the end on Long Island (Montauk is my favorite part of New York but more about that another time). I obviously did not know this as I stood on them taking pictures with my camera phone listening to my iPod.

Wrong turn and abandoned tracks/active freight lines apparently.

Another wrong turn and more abandoned tracks/Montauk Branch lines.

I eventually found the entrance and noticed that it lined up perfectly with the Empire State building. The road was deserted except for three people and a car. This gem was well and truly tucked away.

Looking back from the entrance on Paidge Avenue.

The entrance is wheel chair assessable which meant I could cycle in like I owned the place.

Great for looking like you own the place or people in wheel chairs.

There was a long interesting walkway to get to the water. I loved the exposed bright layered concrete walls and steel railings. The surrounding area is incredibly old and industrial so it was a welcome relief to be around something so new.

Approaching the rotunda bend.

Looking back.

Looking forward

Newtown Creek and Queens beyond.

Steps to the water.

The creek and the BQE beyond.

My trusty steed/Trek Bicycle.

Information on local wildlife.

Good idea.

NYC beyond. Nice at night I'm sure.

Small triangles were cut from the concrete to let the local vegetation take seed and grow.

Seating area.

Willow Tree

The nature walk ran along the river and then turned right to follow Whale Creek, another section that branched off. This area was heavily populated with trees and shrubs. I was in heaven.

Willow Tree/Pre-evolved Human

Okay, so I like to take pictures of trees. I'm a little obsessed with them to be honest. Maybe it's an Irish thing as they play such an important part of our culture. Did you know that Irish people used to believe that humans evolved from trees that uprooted themselves and learned to walk on land? Well you do now. Trees are awesome. Fact.

Another Willow Tree - don't judge me!

Boat Dock.

Sewage treatment facility tanks.

Educational old school first aid.

The nature walk is a dead end as I found out. This gate was locked and seemed to lead to a building several feat above.

End of the line in whale creek.

Looking back from the end.

Barrel/Trash Can

The local area was famed for barrel making for years so when the nature walk was designed they incorporated that fact when designing their trash cans. A nice touch methinks.

Returning to the entrance I really began to appreciate the industrial architecture of the nature walk. It neither blended in nor stood out. It was simply it's own thing amongst an ugly landscape.

Surrounding area.

Returning home over Newtown Creek

Newtown Creek & NYC

The one thing you could probably work out from the photographs was that there was no one at the nature walk, I was totally alone. A beautiful sunday afternoon and not a soul. It is a peaceful oasis in the heart of a pulsing city, especially in such an industrial area. It is a little out of the way but I'm surprised that being so close to Williamsburg, Greenpoint and LIC that more artists have not exploited this hidden gem. I plan to return, alone with my guitar and notebook or with friends and a bottle of wine or two. It's not often that in such an overcrowded city you can find your own space like this. They are slowly turning an environmental disaster area into something very beautiful.

In Short:

Newtown Creek Nature Walk: Paidge Ave & Provost Street, Brooklyn, NY11222.
Open dusk till dawn.
Wheel Chair assessable.
No biking (*cough, cough)
No pets.
1/4 mile long or 1/2 mile walk round trip.
Totally empty.
It's in the heart of industrial NYC so strange smells and sounds may occasionally drift your way.
It's very educational. The area sings with information on everything from the original native tribes, old maps of the area, local history and the flora and fauna.
Walk to LIC or Greenpoint and grab a beer afterwards.
It's free.
Getting here: 7-Train to Hunters Point Ave, G-Train to Greenpoint Ave...or a bike.
Check out the Newtown Creek Alliance

Cubicles

2011-09-15T00:41:00.007-04:00

About two years after moving to New York my company relocated to an office space in Rockville Center, Long Island. It was definitely a step up from the previous location but we shared a floor with another company, also in construction. My cubical was sandwiched between Anthony and Gina. Anthony was a musician by night and the son of the guy who wrote the Sesame Street Theme tune. Random fact right? He would later produce my folk album Dark Between The Stars in 2005. Heard of it? Yeah, no one else has either. It went unfinished because his own band got signed to a record label and began touring. Anthony was a good guy, a real good guy but knew little about his own job and would harass me with constant questions every day, all the time. Hence my little addition to his cubicle in the picture below.

Ask Me Anything

Anthony found my music online and dragged me into his home studio to record more of it. Everything with Anthony was Awesome! My music was Awesome! Golf was Awesome! The chicken parmesan sandwiches from the deli on the corner were Awesome! I credit him with pulling me out of my long writers block, up until Anthony I had given up on music and any type of pursuit of creativity. I was simply working in an office and presumed I would be doing only that forever. Anthony had ADHD and found it hard to get any actual work done. I put up the poster outside his cubicle shown below.

Notice the blank screen.

This meant his boss and many clients were always complaining about his lack of productivity. I then put up a complaints box.

Complaints? Always!

Clients would often come in to sit with him in his cubicle to go over project plans or schedules. There was nothing I liked more than pinning up a poster or picture of something weird in hoping a client would see it. Anthony always spotted them and would pull them down throwing a tantrum - that's not cool man! I noticed that if they were not obviously offensive I had a better chance of sneaking one in.

Spot the Hoff.

On a rare occasion, in the time it took Anthony to greet a client in the foyer and walk them back to his cubicle I could pin up a signed David Hasselhoff poster or two. It became a skill I was utterly proud of. I loved hearing the change in Anthony's voice when he noticed the posters while struggling to remain professional. Most said something along the lines of: Anthony, thank you so much for the wonderful job you done at my house.

To Anthony, My Biggest Fan, David Hasselhoff.

Gina sat on the other side of me. She was an Olympic discus thrower. In between the Olympics she worked as a filing secretary, at least I think that's what she done. She also worked out a lot and got me eating egg whites on whole wheat toast each morning for breakfast. Gina was, as Anthony would say, Awesome! We both hated working in the office and talked about pursuing what we really wanted in life.

Around this time I was thinking of trying my hand at stand up comedy which she totally endorsed. Music was going nowhere and even looking at my guitar made me feel physically sick, until Anthony. She wanted to start her own gym, which I totally endorsed also. Some days when it got bad in the office she would pop her head over my cubicle and say - Wanna let it all out? I'd agree and the two of us would walk out to her car in the car lot.

She would climb in behind the wheel and I'd slip into the passenger seat. We would both ensure the windows were rolled up. Then we would each take a deep breath and scream, really scream, just fucking lose it screaming about everything. We hated in here. Her large muscled arms popped out veins and her fingers dug into the steering wheel and I'd clutch my knees until it hurt. It was glorious, us in a car screaming together in a car lot. After a minute or two we'd sit back and chill, gather ourselves and then walk back to the office like nothing had happened. The car alarm bleeping back on behind us. It worked every time.

Gina had muscles so I never messed around with her cubicle too much, although I did stick a cock on her little statue one day. She didn't find it funny.

Dick-Scus Thrower. Get it?

I lost contact with Anthony although I heard he got married and that his band was doing well. I'll pick up the phone and call him one of these days.

Gina moved to Florida and opened a Gym with her brother, a professional wrestler. Upon hearing that my little sister was a huge WWF fan, Gina got her brother to send her a signed photo of him. Yeah, she was that awesome. The last time I spoke with Gina she seemed really happy.

I started doing stand up and continued with the music. The stand up became screenwriting and eventually storytelling. The music continues to be music and I love it now more than ever.

Both companies we worked for went under during the recession but all three of us are out there doing our own thing.

It's weird how things work out mostly for the best in the end.

I still wish I had access to a car though, sometimes.

Accident-Prone

2011-09-10T11:59:00.017-04:00

This ended badly

I’m getting real sick of being sick to be honest. I don’t like this aging process at all. Especially since I’m only 34. I don’t like how it takes me longer than a fat woman carrying 28 balloons to get on the Q18 bus than for a fractured toe to stop piercing me with pain or for a sprained wrist to heal. I timed that woman and counted her balloons by the way. I take everything personally. I’m good at Tetris, I’m good in crowded public transport situations.

I’m a lot heavier than I used to be. I’m not fat, it’s just that when I fall over in the apartment, sometimes stuff falls off the shelves. Books I’ve half read or badly arranged snow globes my fiance collects mostly. If it’s really bad, a pot in the kitchen drops on the bare floor and the landlord asks me if I’m okay later when he sees me as he sits hairy and topless on the stoop critiquing the neighbours parallel parking. He’s Greek and I live in Astoria. He talks by shouting. I built all the shelves in the apartment and I used a spirit level app on my cell phone so I’m not gonna be too hard on myself.

In the last three months I have broken three toes, sprained my left knee and continue to nurse a pretty bad hip injury from last year which resulted in me missing a Cake concert. The band, not an actual living sentient cake with a guitar, that would be highly disturbing although I could totally see a three tier wedding cake sing like Cher. That’s one of my many pointless gifts, the ability to perfectly and in graphic detail imagine a wedding cake strut its stuff to “If I Could Turn Back Time” around a dance floor in some function hall in Jersey. Personally I don’t strut stuff or dance or anything because old people always ask me if I’m okay. They even offer me a chair or ask who I’m with.

The point is, I am now realising that I am suffering the repercussions of a lifetime of avoiding sports. I hate sports, I hate the concept of sport and I have little or nothing in common with people who like sports. There are exceptions, but then again, there are not. I have the eye-hand coordination of a drunk baby. When I was eight I played on a football team for an entire year in which we lost every single match. Hail, rain, or overcast-windy-dull-misty-leaf-blown-blustery with the occasional bright spell day I played almost every team in every shitty part of Dublin being shouted at by chain smoking oul fellah’s in trench coats on the sidelines I didn’t know. Most were fathers of the other players but some seemed to be just old men who came out to shout at kids because their own didn’t talk to them or lived in England.

- Watch you’re house!
- Get in there, get in there, get the fuck in there, Jaysus, get in there!
- Close him in, close him in...
- Watch for the cross!
- Don’t be a hero, pass the ball!

All of the above was alien to me and the last one was irrelevant due to the fact that I hardly ever had the ball in the first place. It was child abuse. I wanted to stop in the middle of the game and scream: What the fuck is going on? My method as a right full back was to run out and meet the forward of the other team, he would run around me to the sidelines, I would catch up, old men would shout what I should do or cheer the other guy on. I would escort the guy to our goal keeper looking at the side of his sweaty face not knowing what to do and he would score and I would throw my hands in the air and pretend to be disappointed. I repeated as required for a year until I quit.

In short, I never learned that basic human condition of Team Work. Being on a team, working for the greater good, getting out of something more than you put in and all that bullshit. I’m a lone wolf, I masturbate alone, poop alone and pee in the dark woods of “I’m not with them” which is fine with me. I howl at the moon, smell my own farts and am loser free. I’ve never lost sleep over it.

So what is this all this about? I never grew up developing eye-hand coordination. Simple as that. I’ve staggered through life like a half inflated blimp because I never knew what my left hand was doing in relation to my right leg. My eyes tell me one thing but my slumbering limbs tell me another. I break a toe, furniture gets rearranged. I sprain my wrist, I learn to take the door off the latch. I sprain a knee, I learn not to climb over a fence because it looks easier than dealing with the rusty lock on the gate. It’s all about eye-hand coordination, and common sense. When you fall, you roll. Don’t fight back so much. Everything is stronger than you. Everything. And eventually you don’t heal so quickly.

Once, when being treated for a sprained ankle when I was around ten years old, the Doctor while reviewing my well thumbed file noticed a long list of previous injuries. We sat in a room together just feet from my father outside in a hallway of finger painted walls.

She leaned in close, made sure my father was still outside and whispered “Is this really what happened to you?”
"Yup" I said, like I said it before too many times. I had. I had only myself to blame. I was trapped in this thing.
The doctor remained unconvinced.

“You can tell me” she said a little firmer.

“Yup” I said, “I can feel my heart beat in my foot” I continued staring at my now black and blue ankle. It was true and I wanted to change the subject. Before puberty a woman talking that close to your face can be disgusting.

The Doctor bandaged me up while occasionally glancing over at my flirtatious father with a look of pure hatred in her eyes.

As I limped out to the car he never knew that he left that hospital a child abuser purely because I could not kick a ball in a straight line.

How did I sprain that ankle?

I have no idea. Football, I think. Falling out of bed, walking down a flight of stairs, placing a plant on a window sill. It was never an interesting story. I once broke my thumb in two places simply by throwing a ball at a fat kid who was beating up my best mate.

I’m a cluster-fuck. I got a BMX one Christmas only to have my injuries become conversation starters the following Christmas. I’ve set fire to myself, fallen from trees, slipped into drainage ditches, crashed my car due to daydreaming, walked into a road sign and broke my nose, and once when I was five I almost bit my tongue off by simply trying to sit in a chair at school. I spent the following two weeks eating jam sandwiches as my tongue slowly knit itself back together. Some very cruel adult informed me that my teacher, Ms. Mar had since asked for a transfer due to the distress of the incident. I never knew if that was true but I do know that I never saw her again after that day.

I am me, here, and my body is that thing all the way over there and somehow I am trapped in it. I look at it and it does what I want it to do, most of the time, but it’s not me. I look at my body like I’m looking out the window of a tall building at its impressive limestone exterior, ugly gargoyles and rain stained gutters. It has not failed me yet. It rarely gets sick and the only real problems have been self inflicted. I don’t smoke, eat pretty well, drink responsibly unless I’m in good company and go for long cycling trips to nowhere in particular on the weekends so my joints don’t seize up. That’s enough for now. I am not a sportsman. They can collect their trophies and I’ll collect places I make up in my head and go there when they try to speak to me.

Cycling, It’s more an addiction to daydreaming than exercise to be honest. Cycle through the industrial sections of Ward’s Island listening to Trentmoller, Leftfield, or Bent and tell me it doesn’t make you feel like you’re on another planet.

It might not have hurt to play a little bit more sport when younger I suppose but like religion, I could never truly get into it. Sport was filled with crashing bores and there was no real passion in religion. Mass was phoned in by aging priests every week and shrinking attendees half chanted it back to him.

Now there was a place to daydream. Mass. Was I in Donaghmede church? or the remains of a spaceship that crash landed eons ago and was being attended by the descendants of the crew to discuss the continued defence against the savage natives who liked to collect our bones for trophies and use our brains for soup?

Y’see what i’m saying?

Maybe reincarnation is true and in a previous life I was a mollusk or something with less limbs and more eyes than a human. Either way I am young and these scrapes will heal up, not as quick as they used to but eventually, the same way that woman managed to get on the bus with those balloons. To be at one with oneself is exactly what I’m not. I will continue to bumble through the obstacles of New York like a sleepwalking flatulent clown.

I am in here and my body is out there and at 34 years old I continue to live like a bad driver with a new car.

The Liar Show, Saturday, September 3rd, 6pm.

2011-09-01T12:10:00.003-04:00

SATURDAY, SEPT 3 at 6PM (Doors 5:45)
CORNELIA STREET CAFE 29 Cornelia Street (bet W 4th & Bleecker)
$15 admission includes one drink. (Cash only.)
Reservations highly recommended: 212-989-9319 (dial "0" for a human)

Cornelia Street Café is a NYC Landmark with a complete menu & wine list.
Have some foie gras with your baloney.

COLIN DEMPSEY - ComedyLand

LESLIE GOSHKO - Manhattan Monologue Champion

JIM O'GRADY - WNYC Radio. NPR's This American Life

ADAM WADE - Comedy Central; NY Times

Hosted by ANDY CHRISTIE - NY Times; The Moth Radio Hour

"Christie & Co make dishonesty fun again." TimeOut NY

"A Winner! 4 Stars." Edinburgh Comedy Festival

"A detective-comedy extravaganza. A night of solid fun." -BroadwayBaby

1: THE STORIES

Every Liar Show performance is unique. A constantly changing cast of writers and comics tell four short, extremely personal stories that will make you laugh, possibly make you think, and almost certainly make you glad you don't live with them. But listen closely, because only three of these people are telling the truth. The fourth is making it all up.

2: THE INTERROGATION

After the stories have been told, all four performers return to the stage and defend their stories while the audience rakes them over the coals with a fact-finding question and answer session, refereed by the host.

3: THE VERDICT

Each audience member casts a ballot and when the Liar is revealed, the perceptive geniuses who have guessed correctly walk away with a prize T-shirt amid a bitter chorus of "Congratulations, Einstein," from the empty-handed losers.

Random

2011-08-27T23:32:00.006-04:00

I have been told by a few close friends back home that I should write more about the stuff I'm doing in New York and be less "Random" in my blog posts. This blog started off as a writing exercise but I must admit I really enjoy writing it. If it's random it's because I'm living that kind of lifestyle and I don't mean that in a fancy pants kinda way. I just do really random stuff. Sometimes I'll write music, or a short story or work on a script or obsess over my Basil plants. Yeah, I'm obsessed with Basil - don't you judge me! It smells like heaven and I'm not even religious.

As I write this I will have experienced an Earthquake and a Hurricane in the space of a week. Random? You're damn fucking right I'm random. Well, I didn't actually feel the earthquake because I was in Montauk asking my girlfriend to be my wife but that in itself is random I suppose. I spent all day bringing the Basil inside and disassembling the balcony furniture after I decided that tying them to the rails would turn them into unnerving deathly wind-chimes in 100 mph gales. I've been trying to keep Marisa calm while inside all I can think about is my neighbors being sucked out of windows along with their furniture and becoming projectiles that destroy The Bronx. Well that's what will happen if everything Fox News says is true. Honestly I think it will piss rain, be a little windy and I'll feel silly hiding indoors like a coward with my Basil, booze, bottles of water and emergency candles.

So anyway, not to be random or anything...

I done a show last Friday, not yesterday the one before, the better one. It was a story telling show run by my mate Leslie Goshko. It was my second time doing it and like before it was a ton o' fun. I like the show because, well she's awesome (as is her husband), but also because I know so many people who turn up for it. I love hanging out afterwards and having a drink and a laugh, which is what it's all about really, isn't it? I'm also in a band with Leslie and Andy Christie (Another performer on the show and of The Liar Show fame) so we never run out of things to laugh about. Adam Wade was also on the show, I've met him only three times before but he is a gentleman, very talented and an all round good egg.

I chose to do what my friend Stacia Jensen called "The Spock Thing" which evolved from a comedy show we produced for two years, back when we both used to do stand up. The show had a section called "Colin's Bad Poetry Corner" in which I would research and perform bad poetry I found or was submitted by the audience and/or friends. I done this with relish as nothing can strip a man quicker of his dignity, masculinity or respect quicker than writing bad poetry. It has since grown to a 30 minute piece but I done the basic ten minutes of it on the show. Afterwards we drank and had a laugh which is always my favorite part of a show.

Below are pictures taken of the show by the super fantastic Maryanne Ventrice. Check out her site, she's not only very talented but a super lady who I love drinking wine with post show.

Sideshow Goshko Performers.

Andy Christie, Leslie Goshko, Gilda Radner w/ Accordion, Colin Dempsey & Adam Wade.

Invisible Rubik's Cube.

I Am Not Spock.

I Am Spock

To Colm.

KGB Bar Audience.

So there, that's what I done in the last week. How random was that?

Bull Island

2011-08-14T23:48:00.007-04:00

My two favorite places growing up in Dublin were Bull Island/Dollymount Beach and Howth Head. You could see both from each other so you never lost regardless of which one you paid a visit too. I was very lucky as they were both no more that five or ten minutes from my house.

When I was nineteen the drummer in a band I was in lent me a four track recorder. I was in heaven. I spent hours every night for months experimenting and recording songs. I had spent most of my teens experimenting with song structure and lyrics. Unusual chords, dark eeriness, harmony and melancholy was what I decided done it for me. I was hooked. Hence my obsession with Queen, Neil Finn and Pink Floyd.

In the time I had the four track I recorded an album called "The Bare Bones" on a tape cassette. I drew all the art work and organized the track listing. It was filled with mostly electronic guitar based tunes that often went on for several minutes longer than was bearable. Songs about UFO abductions and the apocalypse took up most of side one. I made one copy and put it in a drawer and showed no one.

Going through some old demos and random music I stumbled across a track from the album. I realized that it was my first ever officially recorded song. It's not the first song I ever wrote, that was "Easy Come & Easy Go" a dreadful jazz thing about not being able to get into a Dublin nightclub. It was as awful as it sounds. I wrote the song about Bull Island and called it, well, Bull Island. The sound quality was terrible and all effects were produce with Zoom foot pedal and a second hand Epiphone Stratocaster that had only one working pickup. I was so proud of it along with the other tracks. Why I would write a song about a place I loved so much sound so creepy is anybodies guess? I was very melancholic when I was younger. Anyway, I get a big laugh out of hearing it. Here's the song and some pictures of Bull Island itself taken by me upon my many trips home, it's usually the first place I visit.

Bull Island - C. Dempsey 1995

The Uninteresting Diary of a Happy 11 Year Old Boy.

2011-07-10T14:13:00.006-04:00

Recently my brother came to visit me in New York and brought with him a diary he found at home which belonged to me. Reading through it I found myself amazed at how I could still remember certain times and events but also how generally happy and carefree I was. I’ve always said that the years I lived in Donaghmede up to my thirteenth birthday were my happiest and my time in New York is a close second.

I decided to write the entries here because recently I have had writers bock and needed to do something and also because the diary was falling apart and fit for the trash.

The one thing I find funny is my new found interest in girls, falling in love with them on sight and also my obsession with Ghostbusters.

Upon opening up the Diary I noticed that I had filled in an information page as follows:

Organization: Evil Spies Club*

*A club I made with friends and was currently writing about until writers block occurred.

Occupation: To rid the world of evil.

In case of accident please contact: Mrs Dempsey but don’t worry I’ll never have one.

************************************

Wednesday, March 16th 1988

I nearly had to write a poem out 20 times but I knew it in the end. John had to write his on the way to Kerry.

Thursday, March 17th

Went to St. Patrick’s parade. Had a good time. Americans asked to get on our step ladder to take photographs.

Friday 18th

Stephen’s* birthday. He got lots of lovely presents. I was a bit jealous. I didn't know where to look. I got a new computer game.

*My younger brother.

Saturday 19th

Dad got robbed. They took his Flymo (Lawnmower) and hedge cutter. We saw them in the fields later.

Sunday 20th

Went to Mass. Went to airport and saw a big Jumbo jet.

Monday 21st

Done revision for test. Saw Red Dwarf. I got a great joke from the telly “I look so good if I looked any better I'd be illegal”

Tuesday 22nd

Done music test. I got 81% in music. Didn't get results in maths though. Started model making for a project.

Wednesday 23rd

Watched Ghostbusters*. It was great. Done choir practice in church.

*The Real Ghostbusters was a cartoon that I was obsessed with.

Thursday 24th

Done Irish test & Geography, probably done bad. Got a note home for nothing that I can think of. Confirmation tomorrow. I’ll be singing for it.

Friday 25th

Sung for choir in mass. Got a half day. Nearly invented a solar panel. Mam went to have a talk with my teacher.

Saturday 26th

Watched Smokey and The Bandit 3. I gave it 7/10 stars

Sunday 27th

Put all the clocks forward and went to mass.

Monday 28th

Stephen was sick (pain in his stomach). Dad kept looking at all the nurses in the hospital. Came home at 12.00

Tuesday 29th

Asked Michelle* to go out with me** but it got confusing and she said yes but i’m not sure. Going to ask her again next Tuesday.

*There were several Michelles in my school, all of which I fancied, not sure which one I was referring to here.

**To be my girlfriend

30th Wednesday

Saw Ghostbusters. Had Easter party in school. It was great. Played with Sam* in the fields with Graham and got dirty.

*Sam was my dog growing up. He was known for being able to play soccer and score goals and also for being able to eat everything except lettuce.

April 7th, Thursday

I saw a girl, love at first sight. She was gorgeous and was about 13 or 14. I love that girl. Saw her at the garage

Friday 8th

Went swimming. Dad’s birthday. There was fire works at the Phoenix park but I missed it.

Saturday 9th

Saw police academy 1. It was great. 10/10 stars

Tuesday 12th

Went to school. Got lots of homework. I love Michelle. xxxxxxxx

Wednesday 13th

Saw Ghostbusters, it was great. I will ask Michelle to go out with me again on Friday.

Thursday 14th

I’m going to ask Michelle tomorrow.

Friday 15th

I asked Michelle and she said “I’ll think about it”. I suppose she’ll say yes. Wait and see.

Sunday 17th

Granny came over and minded us. She was great.

Monday 18th

Very embarrassed going to school. She (Michelle) didn't say anything.

Tuesday 19th

Michele didn't still say anything and I was a bit embarrassed. Bye.

Friday 22nd

Michelle didn't say anything and mam told me about blood coming out of her vagina.*

*My mother explained to me about the Menstrual cycle on this particular day

Monday 25th

Missed Ghostbusters. First day back at school after weekend. Very tired.

Tuesday 26th

Good day at school. I beat the teacher in a race back to the school.

Wednesday 27th

Saw Ghostbusters. It was great. I got 50 lines to get signed for swinging a chair. Ah fuck off!

Thursday 28th

Showed teacher lines. Got terrible headache when I fell off my bike.

Sunday, May 1st 1988

Dad slapped me for nothing. Crap day.

Monday 2nd

Watched James Bond and got stuff ready for mams’ birthday tomorrow. She’s 35.

Tuesday 3rd

Granny came over. Good craic. We talked about World War 2. Great day.

Wednesday 4th

Saw Ghostbusters. It was great. Sang in choir. I was on stage with lots of people. Great day.

Thursday 5th

Good day at school. Saw Battlestar Galactica. It was great also. Brilliant day.

Friday 6th

Done lots of work* in school. Shifting furniture to a different school while old school gets repaired. Had a fight with Jason Shaw. I won.

*My school was being renovated. We were moved to a nearby school as a temporary measure. Instead of hiring professionals our school decided to use the pupils to move all the furniture to our new location. To this day I remember it being on a par with moving apartments in New York. The work was that tough.

Saturday 7th

Got a windbreaker. Shitty fuck day and a bolloxy choir practice.

Sunday 8th

Went to airport. Great time. Excellent day.

Monday 9th

Great day. Got into an argument with Ann*. Just remembered about Aileen**.S.E.X.

*Insane religious woman who lived down the end of my street.

**Girl I fancied in school who moved to another part of Ireland.

Tuesday 10th

Me and Patrick went on a voyage* to the train tracks and had a great time. Went to airport later. Seen two jumbo jets. Great day.

*A voyage was what we called leaving the house at 9am and returning at 6pm after exploring the fields near where I lived. Not sure you could do that now even as an adult but in the 1980’s it was safe enough. We would bring sandwiches.

Wednesday 11th

Went to the airport with granny and dad and myself. Stephen didn't come.

Thursday 12th

Good day. I slept in. Me and Jason made a bicycle gang (Called The 7 Hawks). Found a swing in a tree. Day ended badly.

Friday 13th

Brought Sam to the vet because he broke his foot. Yesterday a car ran over his foot. Done shopping, got a Ghostbusters comic.

Saturday 14th

Played chasing with Karl, Simon etc. Me, Johnathon and Stephen went to the fields later.

Wednesday 18th

Saw Ghostbusters. It was all about an Irish legend. People sponsored me for 100 spellings. I'll probably get 80 or 75. Excellent day.

Thursday 19th

Good day at school, done art - EXPLODING PICTURES. Spelling test tomorrow. Dad brought a man over to study* with. Good day.

*My father decided to get a college education as a mature student.

Friday 20th

Got army hats and a box for my music tapes.

Tuesday 24th

Day started shitty but then was okay. I got chased by a boy, probably 14, he beat me up.

Wednesday25th

Saw Ghostbusters. Went to out to play. Saw a girl. Fell in love. Her name is Dorothy. Good day.

Friday 27th

Spelling results. I got 70/100. Excellent day. I love Edele*.

*Another girl I fancied in school.

Saturday 28th

Went to airport.

Monday 30th

Different teacher at school because teacher is sick. Saw the film Tootsie. Fell in love with a nurse at the hospital. Good day.

The diary for the next few days is ineligible. My handwriting was as bad then as it is now.

Sunday 19th, June 1988

Forgot about father’s day. Went to mass.

Sunday 26th

Went to see Paul* in hospital. It’s his birthday, he is 3. Went to mass.

*My cousin Paul was sick for a long time.

Tuesday 28th, June 1988

Had to go to the shop for mam’s birthday. Just fed up. Nothing goes right.

Wednesday 29th

Missed Ghostbusters because it wasn’t on. Bad day, hurt my knee. BAD DAY.

Thursday 30th

Had to stay in bed because of my sore knee. Boring day but good week.

Friday 1st, July 1988

Good day. Swapped three gliders for an old fashioned car.

Saturday 2nd

Seen James Bond. Good Day.

Tuesday 5th

Went to bed early because I’m trying not to be scared* and am trying to get asleep. Good day.

* I was obsessed with ghosts.

Thursday 7th

I helped dad do the garden. I played out the back garden. It was a wet day. Good day.

Friday 8th

Stupid day. Went to a carnival. Shity fucking arse holey day.

Monday 11th

Went looking for a summer job and no luck. I even tried the industrial estate. Good day.

Tuesday 12th

I went to Dunnes Stores* looking for a job. Went on a voyage to the fields. Bad day. I had to go to bed at 9pm.

* Ireland’s largest grocery outlet.

Thursday 14th

Planning to go see Three Men and a Baby. I got a kite. I had a good day.

Friday 15th

Had party*. Paul is back in hospital. Went to see police academy 5. Not that funny. good day.

*A party was being allowed stay up late and watch TV well past my bedtime with a packet of dry roasted peanuts. A weird ritual I insisted upon every Friday night

Saturday 16th

I saw half of “You Only Live Twice”. Good day.

Monday 18th

I found out how to work “beyond” on my computer and it is brilliant. Good day.

Wednesday 20th

I went out and flew my kite with Jason really well. Good day. I had a fight with graham and won.

Thursday 21st

I slept at Granny's and am now bored. I’m waiting and getting ready to go. Played with grandad. Good day.

Saturday 23rd

Saw “Crocodile Dundee 2” I gave it 5/10 stars.

Sunday 24th

Good day, saw “Who’ll Save our Children”

Monday 25th

Good day. Played guns with Stephen , played with Karl. Went to garage too.

Tuesday 26th

Got two back teeth pulled out. Very sore. Gave up sweets. Bad day.

Wednesday 27th

Gum still sore. I couldn’t go out at all today because of my gums. Good day.

Sunday 31st

Went to mass. Bad day, its all rush rush rush.

Tuesday 2nd August

Good day just like old times. Climbing walls and getting into trouble as well. I love my brother.

Sunday 7th

Mam’s finger bled like mad, very worried.

Monday, 8th, August 1988

Luckiest day of the century. 8-8-88.

Thursday 11th

Bad day. It was shitty went to Artane Castle* to do some shopping and dad hit me for no reason.

*A supermarket I would later work in located on the grounds of an old castle.

Sunday 14th

I love me.

Friday 19th

Walked all the way to Portmarnock* with Patrick today. I’m not allowed play with Patrick ever again. Good day.

*A seaside town many miles away. I probably got in big trouble for this.

Sunday 21st

Broke my thumb in two places. Went to the hospital.

Monday 22nd

I have to go back to the fracture clinic. Thumb is very sore.

Tuesday 23rd

Went to Fracture Clinic and they took off the sling. Still throbbing.

Wednesday 24th

Saw Ghostbusters and my thumb is not as bad but still sore today.

Thursday 25th

Played on the street and hit my ball at Bobby White*. He came around to have a go at mam and went away with his tail between his legs.

*A neighbor and semi-tough guy who made the big mistake of thinking he could have a go at my mother.

Friday 26th

Thumb doesn’t hurt as much.

Sunday 28th

Had an argument with The Shaws*. Granny came over . Good day.

*Local family who hated me, I never knew why.

Monday 29th

Bad fucking day. Tomorrow I’m getting the bandage off.

Thursday 1st, September

Played in the hay fields and made a hut.

Friday 2nd

Went to St. Ann's park and hurt my thumb. Awake all night

Saturday 3rd

Awake all night with thumb. This is the millennium , Dublin is 1000 years old on this date.

Monday 5th

Went back to school and now have Mr. Abraham. He spoke mostly to me most of the time. Good day.

Wednesday 7th

Missed Ghostbusters. Bruno got hit by a car and Bruno is dead*. Good day.

*I think Bruno was a local dog, I hope it was a dog.

Thursday 8th

I had to stay in today because mam found out about my argument with The Shaws. Piss witch fuck pubic hair vagina.

Friday 9th

Had a party. Everyone was arguing at me. I went to Ian’s* house and had a great day

*Friend from school (Jar of Bee’s)

Sunday 11th

Good day went house hunting*.

*My family decided to leave the estate and move elsewhere. We would soon become middle class.

Monday 12th

I told Ian about us selling our house and he said they are selling theirs too.

Tuesday 13th

A man came over and offered us $25,000 for the house. We were looking for $28,000.

Monday 19th

Another man came over to look at the house.

Monday 3rd October

I told Ian and David about my birthday party.

Tuesday 4th

House was sold for 25,000 pounds.

Wednesday 5th

Saw Ghostbusters, it was great. Mad day.

Saturday 8th

Getting really excited about my birthday

Sunday 9th Birthday!!!

Great day. Got a game called gunship for Commodore 64.

Monday 1st November

Lazy day. Saw a jumbo flying really low overhead.

Wednesday 2nd

Ashling asked to go with me so I said yes. Sex Sex Sex.

Thursday 3rd

Saw a house in Woodbine Park. We are going to offer them 32,000 pounds. Good day.

Friday 4th

Went on a jumbo jet to Shannon. Great day.

Sunday 6th

Went looking for houses and got mass.

Friday 11th

Got house in Woodbine for 33,700 pounds.

The diary ends here. Several pages past this entry are are filled with drawings of ghosts and scribbles about how Christmas is coming.

We moved into the new house shortly afterwards and I would return as often as I could to my old estate until I eventually stopped going and tried to make new friends. I never found the new place as interesting and living on a street as opposed to living in a housing estate was a strange adjustment. We were now middle class. I was sent to an all boys school. No more girls. I picked up my fathers guitar and would spend hours in my room learning to play it. I started another diary, several in fact, but I burned them all years later. I don’t have many fond memories of Woodbine anyway, although those entries would be a lot more interesting than these ones.

Preemptive Nagging

2011-07-07T14:02:00.000-04:00

The nagging has now begun before I even wake up. I woke up to this "suggestion" beside my head yesterday morning.