Hello all.

A rare happy blog this will prove to be, which makes a pleasant change.
I received my work card in the post today, so finally I can legally work in the USA. I've been waiting so long for the opportunity! It's certainly a real weight off my mind to have that sorted at least, even if I still have quite a bit to do before I can call myself a citizen of this completely bizarre and mental, but very likeable, country.

Bring on the salutations.

Peter. 

Dearest friends.

It has been some time since my last broadcast from the land of milk and honey, so here's something new to tide you over till the next one.

I'm still out of work, through absolutely no fault of my own. This has meant me missing a ton of killer shows, and could mean me ultimately missing a really good job opportunity this month. C'est la vie, and all that, but it's still what the Aussies refer to as a bit of a pisser.

I am, however, finally writing as more than a hobby. In an entirely unpaid capacity I've been hired to write reviews for reputable webzine The Silent Ballet, the first of which should be online pretty soon. It's something I've never pursued, but now that I'm immersing myself in it I'm feeling really excited by writing, for the first time in years. Trouble is, post-review, I find myself speaking and writing in an overly verbose fashion. See? I can't stop. I must seem like more of a pretentious fop than I actually am.

And that's all you need to know right now. There's more, of course, but I'll keep this as light and fluffy as possible, for the darker stuff will probably rear its murky head before too long on here.

Much love. Well, not much, but a little bit.

Peter.

Greetings to thee, beloved reader. I hope beyond hope that today finds you well fed and satisfied.

The pace of life here is so slow I swear I'm going backwards. It's great to be here in America, land of the socially unaware but unapologetically nice, after literally years of travelling. Having said that I've been feeling the hunger pangs of homesickness somewhat this week.

I'm only 8 hours away from Ireland, but it might as well be a million years.
I feel so cut off from everything I know and love, it's a very strange time to be me.

I can't work for the foreseeable future too, due to yet more Visa bollocks, so while Courtney toils in the bakery where she works I've been sitting here all day, like a bored sloth.

It's not all bad, it's in my nature to be full of sloth anyway. But this is ridiculous!

All mu love.

Yes. Mu love.

P. Brennan

Yesiree, Bob, or whatever the hell your name is.
I shall be taking my leave from these fair shores on Wednesday morning, for the last time. America bound. It's taken us so long to finally be able to up sticks and get our lives sorted out, but the time is now and I'm happy about that.

It's going to be very tough to leave so many behind, of course, but to be honest I've put all that to the back of my mind. The way I deal with things is to bury it deep down inside, in a particularly deep grave in my soul. That's got to be healthy... It's worked so far, though, but lord knows I might burst like a balloon of angst someday!

But you know. Let's do this thing. I'm so excited I can't begin to tell you.
Life is beginning again, after a three year hiatus.
I'm about to wake up. Let's hope the morning isn't a bad one, and that the sun shines on me for once.

To all my good friends in Ireland: I'll miss you, but I'll be back for a mad session next year.

Farewell  brethren.
Till next we meet.

Peter

Gary,

I'm really going to miss you, my friend. You really meant so much to me and us, I wish you could have seen that. I hope that now, looking down on those you've left behind, you can see the anguish and sorrow we're living under.

I miss the way you could always cheer us up. Your wit and laughter inspired me so much. And your intelligence! I miss our conversations. I miss your voice, man.

I just miss my friend.
I hope you find the happiness you've been looking for, and know that I will see you again Gar. I promise that.

I love you, my friend.
Rest easy.

And so it comes to pass, once more.

My beloved and I shall return to Ireland on Friday morning, God willing. I'm looking forward to it, truth be told.

Will be good to see my friends and family again. I'm terrified of being back in the clutches of my debt (12 grand and counting!), but I've decided to do the gentlemanly thing and completely deny it ever happened. I believe it to be a wise move...

So, dear friends. I bid you adieu in the hope of seeing you all really soon.
This will be my final return home for quite some time, in fact. I'm pretty certain I'll have the Visa to come back to Wisconsin and marry Courtney within the next month, which is something I thankfully haven't worried about too much lately.

Adieu, adieu, to yieu and yieu and yieu.

Peter M. L. Brennan Esquire.

Greetings fellow Humans.

We're holed up safe and sound in Chilton, WI. Not getting up to much. So much so that I'm actually looking forward to getting back into work when I get back to Eire. We're coming back to the Emerald Isle on Dec 13th now, due to yet more excrement from the Visa Nazis.

I'm missing cold pints of cider in the Tavern, decent television (you wouldn't believe how tepid and meek American telly is. It's geared towards children and retards, even after the watershed. Everything is dumbed down and diluted, to the point where the word 'shit' becomes 'shoot', 'fuck' becomes 'frick' and 'leaky anus drenched cunt sniffer' becomes 'how would you like a nice cup of milky tea?'), and of course, getting my increasingly portly arse nestled firmly into the Tav's legendary DJ booth once more.

Being a music geek of the highest order means it gives me great pleasure to abuse/seduce the eardrums of Carlow's citizens every week. It's just great craic.

Anyway: Do drop me a line, I feel like I've been excommunicated or something sometimes!

Maybe some new photos up soon, and a new El Vatican EP to boot. I'm just looking for some inspirado right now.

From the bottom of my bottomless pit, I remain

Peter M. Brennan (The M. stands for Machomanrandysavage)

Tis true, humble reader.

I shall take my leave to foreign shores on the morrow. 10.30am to Chicago to be precise. Been a nice few months in Ireland. High points have definitely been DJing in the best pub in the universe and just being a lazy bastard with my sweet lovely missus. Happy times!

More of the same in America, sans DJing. I shall make the sojourn back to this filthy island on November 14th at 8.30am in case anyone wants to come greet me at the airport. No? Feck ye then!

See y'all soon.
Peter

Howyiz.

Well, what to say? For the past week or so I've been extremely stressed out! So much so that I haven't been sleeping until 3 or 4am every day. Suffice to say this has addled my (already scattered) mind, but I'll push on.

We're anxiously waiting for the Carlow Gardai to set up an appointment to extend Courtney's visa. We've already pestered them twice, but the fuckers are STILL keeping us waiting, even though we only have two weeks left. We're going back in today to annoy some more. Do your bloody jobs, for fuck sake.

Still no news on the Visa. Pain in the arse, that. Strangley, I'd love to get back to America, the sooner the better. I'm nearly 25, I have to get my life sorted finally! But, alas, we play the waiting game.

Something that's giving me heart-attacks is the state of my bank account now. I'm down to 600euros. That's barely enough for a one way ticket back for Courtney on her own! ARGH!!!! I'm trying to sort it, but all avenues seem to be dead end streets.

Anyway: Fuck it. Spleen: Consider thyself well and truly vented, chap.

Slan.