Stigmund

So, here we are. Isn’t this lovely now. All of us, round our computers. You know, I often imagine you Stigmund fans would all get along great. Not with me, necessarily; it’d be a little awkward what with the worshipping and adoration and such. But all of you, with your witty comments and spiteful retorts. Aren’t yez great. Actually, let’s try something. Imagine your mouse is another Stigmund-reader’s hand and your monitor another reader’s face. And you’re just there staring at each other, gazing into each other’s eyes across a desk, just thinking about how much you have in common, united in your love for the Stigmund. And every time you scroll down with that little wheel on your mouse you’re actually delicately stroking their hand…

Ok, enough. I’ve a post to get through here.

ANYONE WHO SPEAKS GERMAN CAN’T BE EVIL

Apologies for the delay; several things have kept me from b**gging; namely, apathy, lack of inspiration and two kidnappings. Also, a work trip to Germania. After recovering from the disappointment of noting the lack of fat, chocolate-eating kids, I really had a fairly hip time in Heidelberg. Now there are few things that tickle me pink quite like a good ol’ stereotype being fulfilled and during my stay in The Fatherland there were a few magic moments.

Like when a balding German professor (let’s just call him Dr. Scratchandsniff), speaking about food rationing he experienced during his stay in China, told us emphatically that one portion was “only ze size of a tiny schnitzel!”

And when the excessively tall tour guide (also bald, with moustache) shouted at some misguided guidees who had wandered off the course to “SCHTOP!” I thought we’d arrived at a death camp.

NIGGLER

Something rather perturbing: when you Google my name (go on, do it) it now throws up that confounded slogan generator with my name in it before my actual b**g. This is so sad it makes me want to ‘colon-open bracket’ all day long.

ALOOF, ELITE, ELECT

I am pleased to announce the two newest members to the much-coveted and lofty position of Stigmund’s Elite* (new Irish artists that don’t suck and blow): the Galwegian 7-piece, Roll Models, have a song called Kevin which is one of those songs you can sing to people you hate; it’s not just intelligent and creative songwriting- it will also come in super-handy for many people I know. And these guys are still doing their Leaving Cert! Just think what they’ll manage when they’re not frantically reading ‘Less Stress More Success’ in the studio.

Many artists get compared to Brian Wilson; Michael Knight are one of the few who deserve it. That’s not grammatically incorrect, you Nazis- they are a group with a TV character’s name. (If you have the correct taste in music) Their music will thrill you and make you feel like you’re a kid in the 60s, the sun is shining and Brian Wilson is just writing Surf’s Up.

*Read into that what you will, Jimlad.

THE FUTURE’S BRIGHT, THE FUTURE’S ORANGE (and other quality linkage)

I know it’s old, old news at this stage but I heard some people whining about having not seen them yet. It’s worth a look just for the Tom Cruise one. Go.

If you’ve ever received an email, you’ve received Chuck Norris Facts. Here’s the man/god/legend himself reading a few favourites.

To all those MySpace haters: gold.

I WISH THEY ALL COULD BE CALIFORNIA…

Speaking of David Hasselhoff TV characters, sometimes people ask me if I have a ‘thing’ for foreign chicks. I usually said no, until I found this blog and, in particular, this entry. Cailini, you make me sick.

stigmund – Ain’t Gonna Stop ‘Til You Wise Up

Today’s title is inspired by the lack of inspiration I’ve had blog-wise recently. I am home sick with influenza. She’s my new Spanish flatmate. She’s pretty cool, I guess. Except for all the snotrags she insists on leaving around the place. And the punching she keeps giving to my head- it’s giving me a headache.

TIP OF THE WEEK

Guys who say “‘cos I’m just that kind of guy!” are never that kind of guy.

BLOODY STUPID

So, blood donation Wednesday. Everything was going fine, as things tend to go at the Blood Clinic*, until I asked about my blood pressure and the nurse explained that the doctor had read it from “the telescope he had round his neck”. I just looked at my arm and thought, “of all the people on this planet, I got you to shove a needle in my arm.”

*Why are things always so dandy at The Clinic? Because it- no, wait. That should be their tagline actually. Forget “Bring someone back from the dead” or whatever their current slogan is; my one works. With ads showing nurses robot-dancing, patients singing and blood spurting in time to Daft Punk’s ‘Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger’, the donors would be flying in. Anyway, everyone there always seems to be in such good humour. They all want to be there. After another great experience at The Blood Clinic I can confirm it as one of my Top 10 hang-out joints in Dublin.

INTERLUDE

Let’s face it, it’s true.

WHAT I DON’T KNOW COULD FILL A WAREHOUSE

Bonzo (who will have a blog soon- he just doesn’t know it yet. Bonzo, get a blog. Ok, now he knows) and I went to see Syriana Friday. And afterwards, we nominated Zoomtard to do a brief 100-word summary of the whole movie; including plot, political background to each plot and character and, to conclude, a short piece on how George Clooney has become the hippest guy in Hollywood with his last two movies (with appendices, if necessary). After reading his summary, hopefully I’ll be slightly less of a dolt about the information required to fully appreciate the film second time round.

stigmund has disproportionately short arms and legs