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Posts Tagged ‘irish’ Green River Every year since 1962, the Chicago River has been dyed green to celebrate St. Patrick’s day. Nowadays, both the dyeing and a big parade take place the Saturday before the 17th. (Next year, they’ll coincide when the 17th falls on a Saturday.) It’s a uniquely Chicago tradition that tips its hat to the central role the Irish have played in the city’s history. For a few hours every year, the architectural landmarks that line the Chicago River acquire an aquatic front yard that’s as vibrant as the neon green relish of a genuine Chicago hot dog. The actual dye is orange. It turns green when it’s churned into the water. The discovery of this phenomenom was made by members of Chicago’s pipefitters union back in 1962, and the union has been dyeing the river for St. Pat’s ever since. The natural green of the river can be seen to the right, awaiting its transformation into the hypergreen to the left. 1962, over 100 pounds of dye were dumped into the river, leaving it green for days. Now, only 40 pounds are dispersed, but because the river was reversed to run backwards away from the lake, even one day later, the entire river for many blocks to the west remains a single shamrock-colored fairway. Chicago’s mania for St. Patrick’s green is pervasive. Above is the fountain in Daley Plaza. St. Patricks Day: About St. Patrick and his Day I first published this at Techography on March 17, 2007. I’ve reposted it here for posterity and your reading pleasure!- BS I, Patrick, a sinner, a most simple countryman, the least of all the faithful and most contemptible to many, had for father the deacon Calpurnius, son of the late Potitus, a priest, of the settlement [vicus] of Bannavem Taburniae; he had a small villa nearby where I was taken captive. I was at that time about sixteen years of age. I did not, indeed, know the true God; and I was taken into captivity in Ireland with many thousands of people, according to our deserts, for quite drawn away from God, we did not keep his precepts, nor were we obedient to our priests who used to remind us of our salvation. And the Lord brought down on us the fury of his being and scattered us among many nations, even to the ends of the earth, where I, in my smallness, am now to be found among foreigners. St. Patrick, The Confessio The person who was to become St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, was born in Wales about AD 385. His given name was Maewyn Succat, and he almost didn’t get the job of bishop of Ireland because he lacked the required scholarship. Far from being a saint, until he was 16, he considered himself a pagan. At that age, he was sold into slavery by a group of Irish marauders that raided his village. During his captivity, he became closer to God. County Armagh: A look at Bandit Country (BloodSpite’s Note: I originally wrote this in March of 2011. I’ve republished here for this years Irish Heritage celebration. I hope you enjoy!) I’ve mentioned before that my family hails from County Armagh. However, my family does not align itself with the Ulsters. It’s one of the reasons we left Ireland in the 1940′s my grandfather having had enough of the frictions between the North and South, “We were all Irish, dammit.” he would often curse in his latter years with a shake of his head. This post isn’t about politics however, it’s more about a place that politics happened. The Fields of Athenry I first wrote this back in 2010. I have reposted it for our Irish Heritage Month – BloodSpite Without a doubt this is my most favored Irish song. It’s not really traditional, having been written in the late 1970′s. However, the story behind is as saddening as the lyrics. More after the Jump The Orangemen of Ulster (I first posted this on March 10, 2007 at Techography.com it has been reprinted here for posterity and your enjoyment) The Orangemen are a peculiar amalgam of history, anger, controversy, patriotism, and pain. It was founded in the same County that my own family heralds from… Armagh. It’s no surprise that we settled in Ellijay then, the Apple Capital of Georgia. The Orange Order is a Protestant fraternal organization based predominantly in Northern Ireland and Scotland with lodges throughout the Commonwealth, Canada and in the United States. The Blood of Cú Chulainn This one is a fairly new one, as it was just written in 2010. As with our other March stories we thought we’d share it once again! – BS 2013 UPDATE: Video corrected Irish history is more than just words on paper. Like so many civilizations past we tend to put our stories, our mythos in to song. Many have heard the songs of Ireland and found them any array of reactions from distinctive, to beautiful, to addictive. Music is not merely a form of expression for the Irish. It’s a way of reliving our past, and it is probably one of the few mediums in which blood has not been shade amongst ourselves. The son of the god Lugh and Deichtine, Cú Chulainn was originally named Sétanta . He gained his better-known name, Cú Chulainn, as a child after he killed Culann’s fierce guard-dog in self-defense, and offered to take its place until a replacement could be reared. This is a story oft told me as a young lad More on Cú Chulainn after the jump Cloch na Blarnan: The Blarney Stone (I first wrote this March of 2011. I’ve reposted it this month for our Irish Heritage celebration. Enjoy! – BS) It’s been said that we Irish are blessed with the “gift of Blarney” or gift of speech. Which is why we make such great story tellers, writers, authors, poets and actresses. Renowned for such wit and humor as that which came from the likes of Oscar Wilde, William Butler Yeats and others. For we Irish, words and language are so very important… My grandfather once told me that if a picture is worth 1,000 words then it takes 1,000 words to paint a picture. But this Irish gift of wit doesn’t come out of thin air, so the legends say, but rather from solid stone! St. Patricks Day: About St. Patrick and his Day I first published this at Techography on March 17, 2007. I reposted it here in 2010 for posterity and your reading pleasure! I imagine it will be a yearly thing- BS I, Patrick, a sinner, a most simple countryman, the least of all the faithful and most contemptible to many, had for father the deacon Calpurnius, son of the late Potitus, a priest, of the settlement [vicus] of Bannavem Taburniae; he had a small villa nearby where I was taken captive. I was at that time about sixteen years of age. I did not, indeed, know the true God; and I was taken into captivity in Ireland with many thousands of people, according to our deserts, for quite drawn away from God, we did not keep his precepts, nor were we obedient to our priests who used to remind us of our salvation. And the Lord brought down on us the fury of his being and scattered us among many nations, even to the ends of the earth, where I, in my smallness, am now to be found among foreigners. St. Patrick, The Confessio The person who was to become St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, was born in Wales about AD 385. His given name was Maewyn Succat, and he almost didn’t get the job of bishop of Ireland because he lacked the required scholarship. Far from being a saint, until he was 16, he considered himself a pagan. At that age, he was sold into slavery by a group of Irish marauders that raided his village. During his captivity, he became closer to God. Bloody Sunday: An apology almost 40 years in the making I wrote this in June of 2010, not long after the published apology from Britain. It was a hard time in those days, and the events and the handling of those events have only made the chasm wider over the years. This apology, I think, was a good first step in the right direction for both countries to come to a peaceable impasse. It was however, several years late in the coming. – BS Broken bottles under children’s feet Bodies strewn across the dead end streets But I won’t heed the battle call It puts my back up, puts my back up against the wall Sunday, Bloody Sunday U2, Bloody Sunday January 30, 1972 The Bogside area of Derry, in Northern Ireland. On one side over 15,000 civil rights protesters against British rule. On the other, British Para’s, the cream of the British Army. In the outcome over 27 people shot, and 14 dead. This was the time of Troubles in Ireland. “… it is expedient that a Tribunal be established for inquiring into a definite matter of urgent public importance, namely the events on Sunday 30th January 1972 which led to loss of life in connection with the procession in Londonderry on that day, taking account of any new information relevant to events on that day” Resolution of the House of Commons, 30th January 1998, and of the House of Lords, 2nd February 1998 The world has changed since those days. Do not take this apology lightly my peers. Let us not return to those days of Belfast and yon. There need be no violence on this day. The point is made. They have admitted their errs. Use it to your advantage and push, politically, diplomatically for the freedom you have fought for. But if we’ve learned one thing in these past years, is that bloodshed never washes away bloodshed. Be better than that. Be Irish. A tribute to the victims: The Coffin Ships (I first wrote this March of 2011. I’ve reposted it this month for our Irish Heritage celebration. Enjoy! – BS) Coffin Ships are a rather sad part of Irish history. Originating during the Great Irish Famine, and of course the prison ships to Botany Bay. The first vessel with Irish convicts for Botany Bay arrived in Port Jackson on 26 September 1791. They were called “coffin ships,” because so many poor souls had been dying on them as of late, leaving behind widows and orphans and broken families. Typically untrustworthy vessels, these ships were purchased literally from salvage yards (where they awaiting dismantling) by unscrupulous owners who had no intention of repairing them. Sailors who agreed to serve on board these floating wrecks typically knew nothing of the dangers until they were well out at sea, vagabonds, and those desperate for work (of which there were plenty) quickly volunteered. Concerned only with profits, these same ship owners heavily overburdened the ships then insured them against expected losses of cargo. They were quite literally worth more at the bottom of the sea than upon it. On Being Irish in America I first wrote this back in 2007 at Techography. With Calimus’ help I dug it from the archives and republished it here, in 2010. As with all things Irish Heritage, I’ve brought it back once again. Enjoy. -BloodSpite Now that I’ve learned a great deal about Northern Ireland, there are things I can say about it: that it’s an unhealthy and morbid place, where people learn to die from the time that they”re children; where we’ve never been able to forget our history and our culture-which are only other forms of violence; where it’s so easy to deride things and people; where people are capable of much love, affection, human warmth and generosity. But, my God! How much we know how to hate! Every two or three hours, we resurrect the past, dust it off and throw it in someone”s face. -Betty WilliamsNorthern Irish Peace activist, and winner of the Nobel Peace Prize. It”s almost time ye see. Time to dust off the green carnations, the Erin Go Bragh pins. Time to remember, and time to celebrate. It has been said, albeit sometimes bitterly, that Ireland’s best exports were her son’s and daughters. But they have kept the faith, however Americanized. Little Ireland, poor and underpopulated, with it’s humble patron Saint unknown in the rest of the Christian world causing all the fuss one day a year on a day in March. Saint Patrick’s Day in New York is the most fantastic affair, and in past years on Fifth Avenue, from Forty-fourth Street to Ninety-Sixth Street, the white traffic lines were painted green for the occasion. All the would-be Irish, has-been Irish, and never-been Irish seem to appear true-blue Irish overnight. Everyone is in on the act, but it is a very jolly occasion and I have never experienced anything like it anywhere else in the world Brendan BenhanBrendan Benhan”s New York My grandfather used to joke. “Do ye know what St Patrick’s Day is in New York?” My family moved south to Georgia, the mountains of the time in the North of the state wild, to escape the lack of jobs and the No Irish Need Applysigns that plagued them upon their arrival to the land of milk and honey. “No Grandpa.” said I, the youth and unknowing. A babe in the woods. ” What is St Patrick’s Day in New York?” “St Patrick’s Day In New York is the day all the factory owners on Fifth Avenue watch their employee’s parade in the streets.” he roared, laughing at his joke that took me years to understand. Englishmen, Scotchmen, Jews, do well in Ireland- Irishman, never; even the patriot has to leave Ireland to get a hearing. George Moore Each day of the Weekend, for the rest of March I will supply some tidbits on life in Ireland, stories my family has past to me, both of their time in Armagh, and upon their arrival here in the US. I hope that you will See St Patrick’s Day to be more than just a time for green carnations, green beer and music. I hope you will see just what it means for those of us who are Irish, in America. Thus when you raise your green glass, to your mates and your friends, and you hear the words of every lasses lover in the lyrics of Danny Boy, you”ll have a tear in your eye and your heart, for a people who at once are ready for anything, and prepared for nothing, and proud just the same. The Green of March So its finally March. Usually my favorite time of the year. As you can see I managed to ensure that the website changed to its typical green hue for the occasion, forests of Ireland a backdrop for something I have done on this website for several years: that of sharing some Irish history, Mythology, lore and my own families history with you. This year has been crazy, and the last several weeks hectic. Last year our March celebration was marred by the loss of longtime friend and fellow MilBlogger Lex. I can’t promise you this month will be better. There are things moving in m own life that have me as worried as a long tail cat in a room full of rocking chairs, but I digress. It’s March. There is still snow on the ground. Spring is coming soon as the last vestiges of winter make their way from our lives for this year. Smile. Be Happy. Be Green! An Creagan…..or something else? When we first moved to southwest Missouri, I was exploring the backside of our property and came across huge boulders, the size of vehicles. At least one set that runs along the ridge that we live on, is almost the length if not surpassing the weight of, my home. Combined with the inability of grass to grow (but weeds can, hey they’re green!) in the amazingly rocky soil we named our home An Creagan, a Gaelic word that means “Rocky Place” or “Stony Place”. We are looking to buy a home, and we have made an offer on it. We feel comfortable in saying it will be accepted. For us a home needs a good name, something that its residents can be proud of, to lay claim to it. It helps to instill a since of pride and ownership. It doesn’t have to be plastered on the outside or raised over the drive, but can be just something to reference between us and friends. It gives a home a personality. Many folks I have met through the years call their places The Ponderossa, or simply The Home Place. One being from a old west television show and the other just country simplicity. But we all identify to the word “Home”, we just give Home a less common name, if that makes sense. The new one differs only in a few ways from our current place. For one its not a mobile home but a real house. It’s also not as high up. It is on a hill top, but you have to go down in to the valley interior, and it’s actually on a knoll in the center of the valley that An Creagan over look’s. So it has elevation, but the ridges come up around it blocking the view that my current home has. It’s on a grassy and tree lined knoll between the ridges. Also it has no great stone boulders on the property. And while the dirt is certainly as rocky, the previous owners of the house spent a good deal of money on topsoil so that it has good rich earth surrounding the place. I am considering naming this place something else, should all go well and we manage to obtain it. We will be retaining An Creagan and moving my mother in to it (supplying her a home as every good son should) so it feels wrong to strip a name from a place that has so gallantly held it for so long. For the new place, as it is centered in the valley I am considering a few names but none have leaped out at me. Then i figured I’d let ya’ll do some picking for me. In Gaelic there literally dozens of words for Hills, and grove and those words are combined to form descriptions of specific places. So a bhuidhe or yellow and neach or that place becomes buidheanach or yellow place. But typically names don’t stop there. They usually designate further quantifiers like shape, size, and other descriptors giving it three words or more. A hill might also get named after a famous soldier – saighdear Here’s a few examples and let me know of any you like or come up with your own: - Daire or Oak grove, as the new house has several live oaks surrounding it. - Cnoc da Darach or Hill of Oak - Cnoc sa Poll or Mountain in the hole (Since the house is on a hill top, thats in the Valley’s lower regions) - Saighdear caillte or Lost Soldier - Saighdiúirí An chuid eile or Soldiers Rest If you don’t like these dig around. There a few resources on the internet and Google translate isn’t bad. Or hell just drop a comment and I’ll translate it for you. My Gaelic isn’t phenomenal but its passable. Quote of the Day: TGIF & Irish Edition It has been what seems like one of the longest weeks I have had in eons. I am beyond looking forward to this weekend. The idea of coming home tonight with a splash of Bushmills on ice and a Guinness to back it up is simply put, a wonderful thought. The end is in sight. Just gotta keep plodding. So how about a little motivation to get us through the day aye? And both to put a smile on your face, and a little secret to keep in the back of your mind when you meet folks who trying to ruin this last day of the week for you… Critics are like eunuchs in a harem; they know how it’s done, they’ve seen it done every day, but they’re unable to do it themselves. Brendan Behan Now thats fine stuff indeed! Have a good Friday! Out for St. Patrick’s Day V00d3w has the helm around here for today and tomorrow As for Me? I’m out of here. Feel free to join me See you cats on Monday! Door hanger courtesy of Matty O’Blackfive Quote of the Day, March 25, 2011: TGIF Edition Ok Folks it’s Friday! I’ve been an absolute bum on giving you good material this week, so I am going to try to make up for it with one helluva TGIF Quote edition Lets start with who I consider the absolute foremost Dramatist of Ireland fair shores. If you have never read his work: you should! Critics are like eunuchs in a harem; they know how it’s done, they’ve seen it done every day, but they’re unable to do it themselves. Brendan Behan It’s not that the Irish are cynical. It’s rather that they have a wonderful lack of respect for everything and everybody. Brendan Behan For music, lets go with Na Casaidigh (The Cassidy’s) with a old song called The Rising of the Moon And of course eye candy for all! custom writings | can you do my essay for me Celebrating Irish & Irish-American history It’s March again. I wanted to write this post earlier this week and have it prepped. Unfortunately I’ve been sick the vast majority of the week and frankly anything aside from my eyelids has been a painful undertaking these last several days. That aside, March has been a special time of the year for this website since its inception. Long time readers know that every March we turn the page green with the woods of Ireland, and our pages are graced with myth, history and stories about the green isle. It’s with this 1st of March that I am happy to again paint out pages green, and put forth stories both new and old from previous years to help share the wonder that is being Irish, and Ireland. I try not to take to much a political vein in my posts, I love Ireland for what it is, what it was, and what it can be. My family left its shore many years ago and I make no denials that many current Irishman would consider me a “Plastic Paddy”. That does not diminish my efforts, or my desire to give some under standings to the struggles our people have been through, or the legends that we were given. That said join us won’t you? As we celebrate the green month once again, and another year of being Irish, in America! Sharecroppers Dream: Thankful in the New Year Solstice. As a boy things were pretty rough at times. Before we moved down to Taylorsville, GA our family home was a 2 room cabin in the hills of Big Creek. Our running water was a spring out front, our heat was a pot bellied wood stove, our bath a 50 gallon washtub and a bathroom that was as big as all out doors. The military was a slice of heaven to me. You learn to adapt. I don’t begrudge those things above, in fact in someways I miss them. I miss the cold mornings warmed by a cup of coffee listening to nothing but the trees and naught but Charles Dickens to keep me company. I miss the simplicity, and the quiet. I miss the peace. We were “off the grid” before there came to be such a concept. In those days “off the grid” just meant “poor”, but you couldn’t tell us that. I spent the evenings after home work lost in Robinson Crusoe, As I Lay Dying, and Go Down, Moses. You didn’t need electricity for books. In many ways I have often considered that song to be a story of me. The cabin is gone now, my father has built his own house on the property. It’s been a long hard road for us. Trials and tribulations. I have a education I thought I would never get, and I am still traveling that road. My daughter does not lack for things to have, and truth be told is probably spoiled. I have a few regrets, who doesn’t? Some dreams lost to the wayside. I have made many mistakes in my youth, as we all do. So it goes c’sera sera, or as my grandfather would say: De reir a cheile a thogtar na caisleain. It takes time to build castles. The year is almost over and the new year solstice will be celebrated, as it should be with friends. Consider me with you in spirit. Try to think of the good things that have came your way, find grace in the things you could not change. Most of all have a Happy New Year, from all of us at Registered Evil. We are thankful to have you, dear readers, among our friends.
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Scríobh mé seo i mí an Mhárta 2012 nuair a bhí sé socruithe go críochnaitheach i mo inchinn ar dháta rite an neptunus Lex. Deartháir i Armas, Brothers i Dúigh, Milblogger, agus fear ba mhaith liom buíochas a mheas cara. I mo thuairimse, ní mór é a reposted mar chuid an am sin den bhliain arís. Tá sé de dhualgas hÉireann naofa a sheoladh os a chionn, gach cúpla bliain, drámadóir a shábháil ar an amharclann Béarla ó glumness inarticulate. Kenneth Tynan, Breathnadóireachta, 27 Bealtaine, 1956 Ní raibh muid dó a sheoladh chuig Sasana. Ach i ndáiríre, le haghaidh Éireannach nach bhfuil i ndáiríre i bhfad difríocht idir bás agus Éire. Maidir liom féin, ní raibh sé i ndáiríre go dtí go raibh an cliceáil morning.I ar eval le mo fhostóir reatha, shuigh mé os comhair mo ríomhaire glúine ag 04:00 ar maidin le mo caife, agus ar impulse a chliceáil nasc bhlag Lex ar ó mo leabharmharcanna. Mo nerves akimbo. Theastaigh mé roinnt síochána. Thar na blianta tá na daoine mé ar a dtugtar trí láithreáin ghréasáin waxed agus waned. Nuair a thosaigh mé ag scríobh ar líne ar ais i 1995 den chéad uair, bhí láithreán amháin eile a thug mé cuairt le rialtacht. Sa bhliain 2000, bhí ocht ann. Sa bhliain 2002 beirt is fiche. Sa bhliain 2007 beagnach 52. Anois? 17 ... agus na ndaoine go hiomlán leath naisc neamhghníomhach. A teist ar mo ghrá d'obair Lex gur choinnigh mé ar mo liosta marc leabhar. Na daoine eile a thaitin liom agus a choinneáil mé ag súil go mbeidh siad cothrom le dáta. Bhí mé drogall a bhaint as na cinn neamhghníomhach ó mo leabharmharcanna ar an gcúis seo. Mar a chliceáil mé a nasc, agus an leathanach luchtaithe an caife te iompú fionnuar i gcoinne mo bheola mar a bhí mé i gcuimhne le cogar ... tá sé imithe. Ní bheidh a chuid focal cairde dúinn ar bith níos faide, ach amháin le haghaidh oibreacha i lá ag imithe. A chuid smaointe laethanta roimhe sin d'fhág a haunt dúinn i láthair . Leag mé mo chupán síos agus wondered. Seo shots Léim digiteach i ár saol. Cá gcuirfear iad? Cad a tharlóidh dóibh. I gcás go leor, nuair a thagann na costais atá dlite beidh ár dteaghlaigh stoptar síos iad, mhúchadh na soilse, agus beidh ár focail vanish i go dtí an éitear ag pointe éigin. Ár focail ar chlé neamhléite siúd sa todhchaí d'fhéadfadh a bhfuil iad a léamh. Tá sé buntáiste amháin go bhfuil ár se a bhráithre meáin chlóite agus níos mó ná dúinn. Is iad ár cartlanna ach thart ar chomh fada agus is mian leis duine éigin a íoc as dó. Níl aon leabharlann acu a fháil ar ár síntiúis, ní scríobhaithe staire acu sainmharc ár gcuid oibre agus focail. Tá sé suas le linn chun bealaí chun cúltaca na hoibreacha seo, iad a shábháil, agus iad a dháileadh ar shlí éigin do dhaoine eile a shealbhú daor a aimsiú. Ní féidir ár leanaí teacht d'aois a fhios agam ár n-oibreacha, nó céard a spreag linn gan na línte an-cineál mé. Conas a cheap muid agus na daoine á lorg againn a bheith, sa deireadh a léirítear anseo, i dubh agus bán agus a sheoladh chuig tú i sainmhíniú Hi ar 1,024 × 768 picteilín trí phíopa OC48 ó chósta amháin go ceann eile. Lex é imithe. Is é sin i bhfad deiridh. D'fhéadfadh sé focail lá amháin duillín i do doiléire. Cosúil le mo bhlag cara eile triteacáil duine a chaill muid i 2007, nó Acidman duine a chaill muid i 2006, seasamh ar a láithreáin ghréasáin teist a n-sentiments, iad féin, agus a luachanna. Séadchomharthaí Digiteach. Ach lá amháin is féidir iad siúd séadchomharthaí digiteach agus beidh theipeann. Cuideachtaí a fháil a dhíoltar, freastalaithe tuairteála, daoine bogadh ar aghaidh, a bheith costais exorbitant. Maidir liom féin bhuaic de beagnach dhá scór bliain na scríbhneoireachta mbaineann ar dhá láithreáin ghréasáin ... Trasnaíonn an smaoinimh mo aigne ... cad a tharlóidh más rud é? Tá mé aon pháirtí bhlag go rialta le heochracha. Bhfuil aon leas i na rudaí seo, agus aon ús i voicing a cuid idéalacha féin mo bhean chéile. Beidh sé a bheith simplí cosúil le mo caife, fuar, agus lá amháin a vanish i go dtí an éitear leictreonach. B'fhéidir go bhfuil mé gruama toisc go bhfuil solas beag d'fhág an saol seo. Toisc amháin a lean, le daoine eile a thit ar an mbealach taobh, a sholáthar dúinn le thomhas, dáileoga réasúnach a bhaint as focail, eagna agus obair. Cé a roinntear le linn a lá go lá thaithí, struggles agus an saol. B'fhéidir go bhfuil mé gruama mar gheall ar conas a lán againn, sa mhéid is go iar-ghairm, bhí sin misses caol? Glacfar amharc gairid i ár dtodhchaí? go mothú go raibh gach raibh a fhios againn agus bhí ar tí é a athrú i ásc amháin .... agus nuair a bhí sé anuas go pointe roghnaigh sé chun dul ar ais dó, toilteanach, agus a fhios na costais atá i gceist? Ach a bheith sciob ag an gcéad agus is féidir cosa ach ní bhíonn ach go deireanach ó sábháilteachta? Dealraíonn sé dothuigthe i ndáiríre. Ach nach bhfuil an carachtar, nathanna cainte cúram faoi prós, WIT, nó tallainne agus ag pointe áirithe nuair a thugann sí dúinn chun rabhadh a thabhairt dúinn ar an Bás, beidh an t-am a ullmhú a bheith os cionn. Is fearr liom gan smaoineamh go raibh na innill cnáimhseáil deiridh an caoin na carachtar, nathanna cainte do Lex, cé gur fheistiú fhéadfadh sé a bheith. Nuair a tháinig an Bás ag glaoch, roghnaigh mé chun smaoineamh go bhfuil duine éigin, suas ann .... theastaigh ach faisnéisithe maith ar an gcaoi a bhfuil an saol síos anseo ar na laethanta. Agus a choinneáil suimiúil roghnaíodh sé an scríbhneoir is fearr a bhí againn. Ar éilliú Dé dul ar Tadhg Taidhgín raibh Suaimhneas ar síochána Tags: Acidman , Blogger , Digiteach , Deireadh na Líne , beannacht maith , Milblogger , Séadchomharthaí , neptunus Lex , Technorati , triticale