Things Culchies love: Pretending to enjoy Holy Week

I am off work for the next 7 days. Yay! Allegedly, because I am a big fat Christian, I could write to the UN if my boss tried to stop me from taking a break during this, the most important Christian festival of the year. But fortunately for Kofi Annan’s inbox, I work for Christians who are all downing tools at some stage during the week and making time to contemplate on the bunny rabbits around the Cross.

Seriously, without ripping off Eddie Izzard, what is the story with Easter bunnies and Easter eggs? Are eggs meant to represent rebirth? ‘Cos if they do, I grade the marketing idiot who made that one up with a big fat F. Where F is for fuckwit. I think Izzard decided that the cross was brown-> chocolate is brown + eggs represent birth -> birth is like rebirth = Easter Eggs! Whether he did or whether my embellishing imagination is funnier than I am, the fact remains, Easter as a holiday sucks the big one. Why go for little yellow baby chickens when you can have the rivaling excellence of firecrackers and guys dressing up as girls like at Hallowe’en?

Everyone, all around the wide world, could theoretically become Christian for the week and then claim this time off from work. This new and slightly more preposterous (if that is even possible) version of Pascal’s Wager could make me into a famous analyst on God TV (a station I have still never watched a program on and only hear about through the mouths of fundies and their secular equivalent, the mockers who pass cynicism off as a religion– I enjoy both groups equally). It would work everywhere in the world except France. My good friend informed me last night that in France, during Holy Week, work is obligatory. Everyone has to do it. If they are going to be a secular nation, they can’t have people left with enough time to consider the beauty of creation or the treasure that is a little baby’s chubby wrist or any of the other things that are meant to prove the existence of God. So in France, this week, everyone, even the kids, are working. The children go to school from 9 in the morning until 3 in the afternoon and then get sent to a sweatshop where they make berets and park benches shaped to be particularly comfortable to secular humanists. So no Easter in France land. The benefit of that of course is that there are no French people reading my site this week so I could be very rude and stereotype them based on their nationality. Even though that is one of my favourite hobbies, I will resist. I gave up racism and soap operas for lent.

I don’t really love Holy Week although some people might accuse me of being a culchie because the view from my back garden looks like this:
backgarden.jpg

I am not however a culchie. I don’t like Holy Week. I do like not working though. Especially since I spent the last 6 million days with 85 students at a conference in an idyllic mountain retreat. We talked about conflict and resolution and we stayed up till 2.30am playing basketball while it rained spoilsportingly. It was great and very long and tiring and draining and stressful and so I have spent today sitting at my kitchen table murmuring to myself and thinking that Bono can really write profound lyrics. I am coming back to my senses now though and I think I will spend tonight ringing the numbers in the phonebooks of people who have the same name as prominent TDs but who aren’t actually the said TD. It will, I hope, bring a touch of the surreal into their evening that they won’t soon forget.

At the conference, some Northern Irish students got up to shenanigans involving a slingshot thingy, a hidden position 200 metres away from the conference centre, some water balloons and 40 twenty year old girls sitting out on the verandas in Saturday’s delighful sunshine. Not only were they jarred out of their conversation about the theology of make-up by the noise of fast moving projectiles breaking on the windows behind them, they also were confused as to where it was all coming from. I congratulate the malarkey and strongly encourage Zoomtard readers to follow in their footsteps and engage in some form of mischief today.

The Pritzker Prize (see your tabloid call it “The Nobel Prize for Architecture“) was announced today and Thom Mayne won. I wonder if he’d be interested in a commission for my new games bunker? I hope to dig up my landlord’s backgarden and replace it with an underground shelter in which I can play Articulate! and table tennis in the cold nuclear winter we all inevitably face when North Korea decides to post one of its futile weapons to the Minister of Transport.

I have nothing important to say here. Maybe I should have told you that at the start. Where by important is a relative term of course. I almost slipped into thinking that the crap I write up here was of importance to someone other than Johnny Depp, who subscribes to my RSS feed.

Anyway, I have to go do some things. Tonight I am going out to some loser bar with some gimpos from my Book Circle (where the book is the Bible and the circle is a study group) but first I have to finish my designs for a levitating train and then sell it to China.

Your Correspondent, Doing the best he can with his red guitar, three chords and the Blues.

8 Responses to “Things Culchies love: Pretending to enjoy Holy Week”

  1. Adrian says:

    Johnny Depp used to be in a band called P, with Butthole Surfers frontman Gibby Haynes.

  2. freak says:

    Two zings in the one day. Maybe I should piss people off like Anonymous does. Maybe then I would have 4 blogline subscribers like Zoomtard.

  3. Zoombag says:

    I want to know who my blogline subscribers are! Hello to you people. Email me. Tell me more about that.

    In other news, thanks Adrian. I actually wrote that whole post to find out the band history of Johnny Depp.

    I have to go brush my teeth, which is the thing I do when I get excited about the internet.

  4. zoomshort says:

    Nothing at all my Andre the Giant dimensioned friend. It was an innocuous comment that has grown and is now rolling.

    Roll with it. We shall brew up a storm in a teacup.

  5. karen says:

    My dad shares a name with that well-loved rogue, notorious for land zoning and eh… complete co-operation with the courts . I shall set his mind at rest, having sourced the instigator of these late night phone calls, poor man!

  6. phil says:

    I just read this post from the bottom up, just so I could read the signoff. Liked it a lot. Glad to see you haven’t dropped the ball on it.