Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Pat & CuCu - Part I

Doodling on watercolor paper was the best Cu Chulainn could do. The stumbling hostess just about cracked her tailbone in half getting the materials (a Bic pen and said paper) as there were various brown fluids in patterns of Nike and flip-flop soles on the green granite floor. She sat next to the boy nick-named CuCu in one movement- the signature of a person who's had one too many. She gave a facetious gander around the vacuous entryway of her parent's home, and then back to CuCu with a shimmering grin. The house was a typical three-story Orange County wasteland, with plastic-like- seemingly varnished- banisters leading to empty white rooms with empty white walls. Her guests had all gone home or passed out where they stood. The time was 3:30 am. Cu Chulainn scribbled with vigor, hence the last girl standing had the nerve to ask his most loathed question. "So, you draw huh?" Her eyes boldly fixed on his brow, but they met no other set. CuCu was convergent; eyes on the pad of paper; ideas were swimming, flowing and merging. His thoughts melted together and the girl named Patricia was merely...there.
"Sure, I guess." He said coldly. She wasn't vapid- oh no, not this one. She was drunk. Which tends to accelerate vapidity- the perfect excuse for anything above the belt.
"Sorry, I'm kinda drunk." She slurred as she curled a lock of hair behind her ear and took a sip of what smelt like Ouzo. "So, like- you're the only one I don't know- and it's my house...I think I deserve more than just a cold shoulder." She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, feigning a cricket. Cu Chulainn gave no response other than a quick smirk and an intentional nasal exhalation. She looked over CuCu's cold shoulder and saw a stone covered in what looked to be paisley bandannas. "What's that?" Patricia asked innocently enough.
"Rag-na-rock." He giggled, met eyes with her longer than he wanted to, and returned to his terrible joke of a drawing. He shook his head. He had seen what a pretty girl she was. Big mistake. Now she knew she could continue. She could continue with her ruse, she was in control- "give 'em that look and you give it all up." he thought.
"What's your name?" She bit her index fingernail, yet she wasn't a biter: a sign she was a bit histrionic. Cu Chulainn slapped the paper pad against his knees- he knew...time to give the princess what she wanted.
"Cu Chulainn."
"I'm sorry?"
"Me too."
"My parents...they named me after the Irish Achilles..." CuCu was tired of the story and always ended it the same way, "...but you can call me CuCu." He cringed at what came next: typically a shrill squeal and a "that's so adorable!"
"Cool. Hound of Ulster, right?" She sipped at her libation proudly.
"Did you just say that? Or am I truly that fucked?" He stared at her black and lustrous eyelashes, at her porcelain mocha skin and deep brown eyes. He had now noticed that which previously begged for attention. That which now had Cu Chulainn in the form of surprised and smitten lust.
"No. There's more to me than a big stupid house. My name is Patricia by the way." They shook hands.
"Is that Ouzo you're drinking, Patricia?"
"Good nose. Have you been to Greece?"
"No. My nanny was a bartender." They both laughed hysterically. "But seriously, is it time to go or something?" She was disappointed by the query and wanted to know why this boy seemed so uneasy.
"How did you end up here?"
"Um- my friends kind of left me here. I'm pretty sure I have no way to get home until...like six or something."
"Holy shit! Some friends! By what names do these fiends proclaim?"
"Brian, Mike, and Andy." He fidgeted.
"Andy is a friend...wow, I can't believe they left you...then again...Brian, Mike, Andy and...Cu Chulainn? I think you're the black sheep where ever you go!" She laughed until promptly embarrassing herself quiet with a few snorts.
"Now that's cute! I bet you snort at all the boys!" More snorts came as well as a friendly slap to the chest. Sociology and psychology were CuCu's majors. He knew what he was in for: a long early morning of fresh tales told by full pink lips he was allowed to stare at.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Mana Rebirth

So I'm bringing back the ol' "Radio Mana" the podcast where I give listeners an ear full of what I consider to be great music and a bit o' commentary. You can find it here or listen below. Not much else to say, just an update- going to practice trumpet now and enjoy my day off. Love you all.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

St. Patrick

What a strange time to be a human being in the world today. War, strife, death and irresponsible leadership on all fronts. It feels like we live in the dark ages. Although this time around we have heat seeking-infrared-dick-filleting warheads that can sizzle a nation to ash. So, here I sit with a Glenlivet on the rocks; it's St. Patty's day narrated by Titus Andronicus, and as I tap my gunboats to the beat I'm hoping their show in New York with The Pogues is going as well as it kicks off in my day dreams. Cheers everyone! Here's to love found and love lost- and of course to a very delusional and righteous fellow by the name of Pátraic: the Apostle of Ireland. Drink up me babbers!

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

The beginning is only the beginning.

This is a test.

A lame one at that. Why do I have to challenge myself to become productive?

Because I'm a schizophrenic & competitive nob-end, that's why.

I plan on being more creative and less wasteful: hence the name of my blog. By the end of 2011 I hope to be able to play jazz on the trumpet, finish editing my motion picture scripts, write a hefty piece of my novel (of which my lazy ass has written seven fucking pages), and produce an amateur ambient/alternative album. Here you will find the writings, suggestions, opinions, music, photographs and general musings of Conn Donato Cianci-McGraw. Thank you.